HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 


I 


HEARTS    AND 
THE   DIAMOND 


BY 

GERALD    BEAUMONT 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPAMY 

1921 


th 
jy 


CoPTBiaHT  1920, 1921 
By  DODD,  mead  and  company,  Inc. 


•  . •  ; : . : :  : 
........    :   .  "^Jh^' 


m  - 


BOOK      MANUFACTURERS 
RAHWAY  NEW    JERSEY 


To  the  men  of  the  diamond,  worshipped  yesterday, 
abused  today,  forgotten  tomorrow, —  and  to  their  sweet- 
hearts, wives  and  children, —  who  will  miderstand. 

G.  B. 


461678 


INTRODUCTOEY 

IT  was  the  last  half  of  the  sixteenth  inning  of 
a  protracted  ball  game  one  afternoon  in  mid- 
July.  For  almost  three  hours,  two  teams 
h^d  battled  on  even  terms,  and  the  contest  had 
become  a  test  of  endurance  between  the  oppos- 
ing pitchers.  One  of  them  plodded  across  the 
sun-cooked  diamond  to  join  his  exhausted  team 
mates  sprawling  in  the  shade  of  the  dugout. 

He  was  a  man  of  powerful  frame,  head 
cropped  close  to  cheat  the  gray  hair,  heavy  lines 
worn  deep  into  the  leather  of  his  face.  They 
made  room  for  him  on  the  bench,  and  he  flopped 
down,  pulling  a  faded  sweater  mechanically  over 
his  pitching  arm,  and  staring  out  silently  at  the 
field  of  battle.  To  his  side  came  the  eight  year 
old  uniformed  bat  boy,  his  son.  The  youngster 
held  up  a  glass  of  water,  and  the  man  drank, 
gulping  noisily.  A  second  glass  appeared  and 
this  time  the  cool  water  was  used  to  drench  head 
and  neck  and  the  black  hair  that  covered  the 
man's  heaving  chest. 

The  boy's  arm  went  around  the  ball  player's 
broad  shoulders,  and  the  man  patted  the  young- 
ster's hand  comprehendingly.    For  the  moment, 

vii 


yiii  INTKODUCTORY 

they  were  no  longer  pitcher  and  bat  boy,  veteran 
and  mascot, — but  only  father  and  son. 

"  Stay  with  'em,  Pop,"  encouraged  the  young- 
ster, "  I'm  sure  pulling  for  you !  " 

That  remark  is  responsible  for  the  appearance 
of  this  book  in  which  an  effort  has  been  made 
to  depict  the  human  side  of  the  ball  player's  pro- 
fession with  its  lights  and  shadows. 

Some  of  the  characters  herein  portrayed  are 
just  as  the  writer  observed  them  while  serving 
as  an  official  scorer  for  the  Pacific  Coast  Base- 
ball league;  others  are  composites.  The  inci- 
dents are  nearly  all  suggested  by  actual  occur- 
*rences  which  might  have  turned  out  as  narrated 
had  only  Fate  been  a  little  more  indulgent. 

Rocking  lazily  in  a  fishing  boat  on  San  Fran- 
cisco Bay,  chatting  on  railroad  trains  and  in 
hotel  lobbies,  frolicking  in  the  training  camps, 
the  author  was  privileged  to  enjoy  a  more  or 
less  intimate  acquaintanceship  with  professional 
ball  players,  and  to  number  many  of  them  among 
his  friends. 

Baseball  is  a  peculiar  profession,  possibly  the 
only  one  which  capitalizes  a  boyhood  pleasure, 
unfits  the  athlete  for  any  other  career,  keeps 
him  young  in  mind  and  spirit,  and  then  rejects 
him  as  too  old,  before  he  has  yet  attained  the 
prime  of  life. 

The  public  knows  a  great  deal  about  the  pro^ 


INTKODUCTORY  ix 

fessional  ball  player  as  such,  but  surprisingly 
little  about  his  private  life,  his  view-point,  his 
pleasures  and  his  sorrows.  So  far  as  baseball 
fans  are  concerned,  the  player  exists  only  on  the 
ball  field  and  in  the  sporting  page.  The  mo- 
ment he  steps  from  the  clubhouse  in  uniform, 
thousands  identify  him.  They  know  his  walk, 
his  every  movement  and  peculiarity.  The  mul- 
titude calls  him  by  name,  encouraging  him,  or 
bitterly  abusing  him  as  the  occasion  suggests. 
But  once  the  contest  is  over,  and  the  ball  player 
returns  to  private  life,  he  moves  in  a  circle  that 
is  astonishingly  small. 

It  never  occurs  to  the  fan  that  a  ball  player 
is  out  on  the  field,  not  alone  for  fame  and  money, 
but  to  win  for  his  wife  and  children  a  place  in 
life — a  station  that  depends  entirely  upon  his 
ability  to  "  get  by." 

The  noisy  rooter  in  the  bleachers  who  roars 
"  bonehead  "  at  the  over-anxious  recruit  in  the 
outfield,  never  by  any  stretch  of  the  imagination, 
conceives  of  the  girl  in  the  grandstand  whose 
happiness  depends  upon  the  "  bonehead's  "  suc- 
cess. 

For  the  professional  ball  player,  the  game 
holds  much  of  tragedy,  those  who  find  happiness 
and  sufficient  recompense  being  few  and  far  be- 
tween. Frequently  men  are  in  the  line-up  when 
every  quick  movement  means  physical  torture. 


X  INTKODUCTORY 

They  learn  to  accept  cuts  and  bruises,  boils  and 
blisters,  with  a  mixture  of  philosophy  and  iodine. 
The  physical  and  nervous  strain  to  which  they 
are  subjected  for  several  hours,  six  days  a  week, 
develops  in  most  players  a  chronic  state  of  ner- 
vousness which  prevents  relaxation.  They  eat 
immoderately,  and  between  meals  chew  gum,  or 
tobacco — or  smoke  more  than  is  good  for  them. 
A  deck  of  cards  appears  during  any  idle  mo- 
ment. Imprisonment  in  a  railroad  coach  for  the 
usual  day  of  travel  is  a  refined  method  of  torture 
to  the  restless  child  of  the  diamond. 

So  long  as  youth  and  sound  limbs  remain,  the 
ball  player  may  reach  the  Majors  and  revel  in 
his  glory,  but  when  he  begins  to  slow  up  to  the 
slightest  extent — if  a  serious  injury  is  encoun- 
tered, or  his  eyes  become  overstrained — then  the 
trail  to  the  bottom  looms  straight  ahead,  and  the 
road  is  greased. 

With  this  preface,  the  sympathetic  considera- 
tion of  the  reader  is  invited  to  "  Hearts  and  the 
Diamond."  As  Brick  McGovern  himself  would 
say,  when  the  warm-up  is  over,  and  the  crowd  is 
settled  in  place: 

"All  right,  boys,  there's  the  old  bell — let's 
go!" 


CONTENTS 

PAflIB 

With  the   Help  of   God  and  a  Fast 

Outfield     . 1 

The  Crab 28 

Leave  it  to  Angel-Faob      ....  54 

Eainbow 87 

Tin  Can  Tommy 112 

Kerrigan^s  Kid 139 

The  Speed  Pill      .....         .  166 

Pebble  Pop 198 

Called  on  Account  of  Darkness      .       .  221 

His  Honor,  the  Umps 250 

Elephants 282 


•>    .••■»» 


HEARTS   AND  THE 
DIAMOND 


WITH  THE  HELP  OF  GOD  AND  A  FAST 
OUTFIELD 

TWO  men  walked,  and  Potter  hit  viciously 
to  center. 

The  balloon  was  going  up ! 
In  the  Badgers'  dugout,  McMasters  rapped  out 
a  command,  and  a  pair  of  relief  pitchers  hur- 
ried to  the  side-lines  and  warmed  up  jerkily, 
keeping  an  anxious  eye  on  the  next  play.  From 
the  seething  bleachers  there  arose  a  throbbing, 
exultant  roar,  old  as  the  human  race — the  cry  of 
the  hunting  pack  at  the  heels  of  the  quarry.  The 
day  that  fandom  long  had  hungered  for  was  here. 
Wild  Bill  Cassidy  was  faltering — Cassidy  the 
hoodlum,  Cassidy  the  roughneck,  Cassidy  who 
gave  the  bleachers  jeer  for  jeer,  insult  for  insult, 
who  mocked  all  their  efforts  to  "  get  him  " — he 
was  being  batted  from  the  box  by  the  tail-enders. 
This  was  his  finish;  he  would  taunt  them  no 

more! 

I 


52'' ''    HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

In  the  roaring  vortex  of  triumphant  hate  that 
swirled  around  the  ball-park  of  the  Bears,  the 
tall  figure  of  the  man  in  the  pitcher's  box  was  a 
reed  bending  under  the  storm,  a  defiant,  desper- 
ate reed  struggling  against  the  inevitable. 

Red  Morris,  eager  and  confident,  stepped  into 
a  ball  shoulder  high  and  shot  it  past  third.  On 
the  instant,  McMasters  scrambled  from  the  dug- 
out and  signaled  to  the  padded  figure  of  the  um- 
pire behind  the  plate.  Cassidy  was  to  be  with- 
drawn. 

The  hot  Irish  blood  surged  to  Wild  BilFs  head., 
The  frenzied  taunts  from  the  bleachers  rang  in 
his  ears.  He  ignored  his  manager,  ignored  the 
figure  of  Slim  Krueger  trotting  toward  the 
slab  and  swinging  one  arm  into  free  action. 
Twice  he  shot  the  ball  at  the  next  batsman 
before  McMasters  was  at  his  side  in  angry  re- 
monstrance. 

"  Give  me  the  pill,''  said  McMasters  curtly.; 
*^  You've  done  enough  damage." 

Cassidy's  reply  was  a  snarl.  Turning  away, 
he  threw  the  ball  in  a  wild  burst  of  furious  rage 
over  the  right  field  fence.  The  sphere  dwindled 
and  faded  into  the  blue;  the  crowd  foamed  into 
a  frenzy  of  invective  and  derision ;  and  Wild  Bill 
Cassidy,  with  murder  in  his  heart,  tramped  sul- 
lenly toward  the  clubhouse  and  oblivion. 

In  the  middle  of  the  eighth,  with  the  crowd  in- 


WITH  THE  HELP  OF  GOD  3 

tent  on  the  season's  best  pitehing-duel,  Cassidy's 
tall  figure,  clad  in  street-dress,  emerged  from 
the  players'  gate.  Immediately  a  boy  of  twelve 
who  had  been  patiently  waiting  on  the  curb  fell 
into  stride  with  him,  and  together  they  marched 
down  the  street.  Once  or  twice  the  youngster 
glanced  up  to  note  at  what  precise  angle  the 
man's  chin  was  held,  just  how  closely  his  lips 
were  compressed.  Thereupon  the  youthful  fea- 
tures assumed  the  same  expression.  The  boy's 
short  legs  strove  manfully  to  keep  pace  with  the 
other's  long  strides.  Finally  they  turned  by  un- 
spoken consent  into  a  small  plaza  and  came  to 
rest  upon  a  bench.  Not  until  then  did  the  boy 
break  the  silence. 

"We'll  come  back,  won't  we,  Pop?     We'll 
make  'em  like  it,  won't  we?  " 

Cassidy's  brows  cleared.  His  voice  was  no 
longer  that  of  the  ball-field. 

"  We'll  come  back,  son.  We'll  make  'em  like 
it." 

"  Friday?  "  asked  the  boy. 

"  'Fraid  not,  son,"  the  man  answered.  "  Not 
that  soon.    You  see,  I'm  released  outright." 

The  youngster's  blue  eyes  flashed.  His  small 
fists  doubled.  An  oath — ugly  and  incongruous — 
escaped  from  immature  lips.  Just  as  suddenly 
the  burst  of  temper  was  succeeded  by  a  flush  of 
sympathy  and  devotion,  an  expression  inherited 


4  HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

from  a  mother  whose  influence  transcended  the 
grave. 

*^  Don't  you  mind,  Pop/'  the  boy  comforted. 
"  They  can't  win  the  pennant  without  us.  We'll 
come  back.    We'll  make  'em  like  it." 

But  the  days  that  followed  gave  no  indication 
that  Tad  Cassidy's  prediction  was  to  be  fulfilled. 
Father  and  son  drifted  to  Minneapolis  and  Wild 
*Bill  was  batted  out  of  the  box  in  the  first  game 
he  started.  The  "  hundred-thousand-dollar  arm  " 
with  which  he  had  defied  opposing  players  and 
fandom  alike  felt  curiously  heavy  and  dead. 
What  Bone-setter  Randall  had  predicted  had 
come  true :  excessive  use  of  the  "  spitball "  had 
weakened  the  ligaments  in  his  arm.  It  hurt  him 
to  throw  a  curve. 

From  Minneapolis,  they  moved  to  the  Three  I 
league  and  then  to  the  Copper  Circuit,  and 
finally  to  that  last  of  all  havens — semi-pro  ball 
on  Sundays  and  holidays  in  the  balmy  climate 
of  California.  After  each  failure  and  fresh  dis- 
couragement Tad  Cassidy  held  his  chin  a  little 
higher,  doubled  his  fists  and  uttered  the  shib- 
boleth of  the  Cassidys :  "  We'll  come  back,  won't 
we.  Pop?    We'll  make  'em  like  it!  " 

And  always  the  big  Irishman,  growing  soft 
and  flabby  from  lack  of  training  replied  me- 
chanically : 

"  We  sure  will,  son.    I'll  tell  the  world." 


WITH  THE  HELP  OF  GOD  5 

But  the  world  was  singularly  skeptical.  Wild 
BilFs  temper,  under  the  knowledge  of  his  steady 
retrogression,  became  worse.  He  grew  daily 
more  quarrelsome  and  ugly,  and  managers 
sought  his  services  less  frequently.  His  name 
was  no  longer  a  drawing-card.  Even  his  batting 
eye  was  becoming  dim.  The  day  came  when  he 
and  Tad  found  the  bank-roll  depleted  with  only 
the  chance  of  making  rent-money  on  Sunday 
afternoons. 

Then  out  of  the  darkening  skies  came  a  thing 
which  clutched  Wild  Bill  Cassidy  by  the  throat 
and  filled  his  heart  with  a  terrible  fear. 

He  had  come  to  bat  with  the  bases  full  and  a 
chance  to  win  his  own  game;  and  a  youngster, 
green  as  the  grass  on  the  infield  itself,  struck 
him  out.  In  a  burst  of  impotent  rage,  Cassidy 
hurled  his  bat  behind  him.  He  meant  it  to  crash 
up  against  the  grandstand  with  a  violence  that 
would  express  the  rage  in  his  heart.  For  a  little 
more,  he  would  have  hurled  it  the  other  way, 
straight  at  the  triumphant  youngster  in  front 
of  him.     He  cared  not  what  happened. 

But  there  came  no  crash  of  bat  against  the 
wooden  wall.  Instead  a  shout  of  warning  from 
the  players  on  the  bench — an  odd,  dull  sound, 
and  then  an  instant  of  horrified  silence.  Cassidy 
turned. 

Flat  on  his  face  in  the  dirt  lay  Tad,  and  about 


6  HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

him  were  strewn  the  cluster  of  bats  he  had  been 
carrying  away  from  the  plate.  Wild  Bill's  club 
had  struck  the  boy  full  on  the  head. 

From  out  the  stands  jumped  fifty  men  intent 
on  summary  vengeance.  But  Cassidy  was  there 
ahead.  They  stopped  short  as  he  faced  them 
with  the  unconscious  form  in  his  arms.  There 
was  no  mistaking  the  look  in  his  eyes. 

"  Merciful  God !  "  he  breathed.    "  A  doctor !  " 

A  little  later,  when  a  physician  came,  Tad 
opened  his  eyes  and  saw  his  father  bending  over 
him.  "  Coming  back,''  he  whispered  sleepily. 
"  Coming  back — make  'em  like  it."  Then  he 
went  out  again. 

Weeks  later,  when  the  fractured  skull  had 
mended  and  Tad  came  home  from  the  hospital, 
Wild  Bill,  chastened  and  with  deep  lines  around 
his  mouth,  hunted  up  Father  Philip  O'Keilly  and 
routed  the  good  man  out  of  bed  in  the  deep  of 
the  night. 

"  Eheu,"  sighed  the  priest  when  he  had  heard 
the  story,  "  I  too  was  a  ball-player  once,  but  that 
was  long  ago.  Now,  you  big  man,  listen  to  me : 
'Tis  lack  of  control  that  has  ailed  you  all  along. 
Not  a  bit  can  you  control  a  ball  when  you  can- 
not control  yourself.  You  threw  the  ball  over 
the  fence.  You  threw  yourself  out  of  the  majors. 
You're  after  throwing  your  life  away,  and  the 
boy's  too.    It's  a  wild  man  you  are,  as  God's  the 


WITH  THE  HELP  OF  GOD  T 

witness.  Mark  you,  son:  this  life  is  but  a  big 
diamond,  and  we're  all  the  players.  'Tis  the 
good  Lord  is  the  Umpire.  You've  been  curving 
the  ball,  do  you  mind?  Trying  to  buzz  them  past 
the  batters  by  sheer  temper.  You're  after  for- 
getting that  there's  such  things  as  control,  and 
a  straight  ball,  and  a  change  of  pace.  Go  home 
to  your  lad  and  play  the  game  right,  you  big 
man,  and  learn  to  put  a  straight  ball  over  the 
plate." 

Cassidy  nodded  his  head,  but  his  blue  eyes 
twinkled. 

"  You're  forgetting  I'm  in  a  hole.  Father. 
What  should  a  pitcher  do  when  the  bags  are 
loaded  and  he's  got  three  balls  on  the  batter? 
That's  me." 

Father  O'Reilly  chuckled  reminiscently :  "  I'm 
after  recalling  that  happened  to  me  once,  and  I 
trusted  to  God  and  a  fast  outfield  and  threw  it 
straight  over." 

"  You  grooved  it?  "  exclaimed  Cassidy.  "  And 
what  happened?  " 

The  priest  arose  and  laid  a  paternal  hand  on 
the  Irishman's  shoulder. 

"  The  batter  hit  it  to  the  fence  and  we  relayed 
it  back  and  nailed  him  at  the  plate.  'Twas  the 
run  that  would  have  tied  us.  Now  go  along  and 
let  an  old  man  get  his  sleep." 

That  night  Cassidy  and  little  Tad  talked  it  all 


8  HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

over.  "  You  see,  son/^  said  Wild  Bill,  "  it's  what 
we've  lacked — control  and  a  straight  ball.  We've 
got  to  change  our  pace;  there  is  much  we  have 
to  learn." 

"  Did  he  mean  that  was  the  way  we  could  go 
back  to  the  majors,  Pop?  Could  a  guy  get  by 
without  a  curve  if  he  had  the  control  and  a 
change  of  pace?    Could  he.  Pop?  " 

"  Why,  I  didn't  take  it  that  way,  son ;  I  don't 
think  he  meant  exactly  that.  Still,  he  might 
have.    I  wonder,  now." 

A  great  hope  blossomed  in  Wild  Bill's  heart. 
"  I  wonder,  now,"  he  muttered.  "  I  wonder !  I 
had  swell  control  before  I  took  up  the  spitter. 
Supposing  I  got  back  in  shape,  and  practised  a 
change  in  pace  and  control,  and  studied  their 
weakness,  and  put  it  always  where  they  didn't 
want  it.    I  wonder — " 

"  Pop,  you  could  do  it,"  interrupted  Tad  from 
the  pillows.  "The  Cassidys  always  come  back. 
You  said  so  yourself.  I'll  help  you  practise, 
Pop." 

Wild  Bill  Cassidy  bent  over  the  little  figure 
in  the  bed,  and  they  locked  their  arms  around 
each  other. 

"  Son,  we'll  go  back.  Your  old  pop  will  show 
'em  yet,  but  hop  out  now.  I'm  going  to  teach 
you  how  to  pray,  if,  I  haven't  forgot.  You  got 
to  can  them  cusses,  son — we're  going  to  change 


WITH  THE  HELP  OF  GOD  9 

our  pace  off  the  field  as  well  as  on.    I'll  inform 
the  universe  we  are." 

The  boy  climbed  gravely  out  of  bed  and  knelt 
on  the  floor.  "Shoot/'  he  said.  "What'U  I 
say?'' 

Wild  Bill  frowned  and  hesitated. 

"  You  needn't  say  it  out  loud,"  he  instructed. 
"  Just  tell  Him  in  your  way  that  we're  going  to 
cut  out  the  rough  stuff  and  ask  Him  to  help  us. 
Tell  Him  we  want  to  make  good  and  we  want 
control  and  a  change  of  pace — and  just  a  chance 
at  the  big  show  once  more — just  once;  that's 
all." 

Tad  bowed  his  head  obediently,  and  Cassidy 
went  to  the  window  and  stared  out  into  the 
night.  He  was  still  standing  there  when  Tad 
fell  asleep. 

The  next  day  Cassidy  consulted  a  physi- 
cian and  submitted  to  a  thorough  examina- 
tion. 

"  If  they  were  all  like  you,  we'd  go  out  of 
business,"  the  physician  grunted.  "What  do 
you  think  is  wrong  with  you?" 

"Nothing  you  can  help,"  said  Cassidy,  and 
he  paid  the  fee  in  high  spirits. 

Loiterers  in  the  public  playground  thereafter 
saw  a  man  and  a  boy,  both  with  red  hair  and 
blue  eyes,  playing  catch,  back  of  the  grand- 
stand.   They  practised  early  in  the  morning  and 


10        HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

again  when  the  shadows  were  deep.  The  boy 
wore  a  catcher's  glove  many  sizes  too  big  for 
him,  and  he  did  not  always  try  to  catch  the  ball, 
holding  the  glove  instead  as  a  target  at  which 
the  man  took  careful  aim.  Occasionally  the  boy 
stepped  aside  and  the  man  took  leisurely  cog- 
nizance of  a  knot-hole  in  the  fence.  At  such 
times,  the  ball  crashed  against  the  boards  with 
terrific  impact,  and  the  boy  emitted  a  shrill  cry 
of  delight.  Then  they  resumed  the  old  game  of 
aiming  at  the  glove. 

"  Carter's  up,"  the  boy  would  call. 

"Uhuh!  Inside  comer — not  quite  so  high. 
Just  about  there — now !  " 

A  streak  of  white — thud,  and  the  glove  was 
knocked  from  the  boy's  hand.  A  moment  later, 
when  the  stunt  was  repeated,  the  ball  seemed  to 
float  tantalizingly  through  the  air  with  scarcely 
a  revolution,  chest  high,  until  it  neared  the  im- 
provised plate,  when  it  dropped  suddenly  into 
the  waiting  glove. 

Before  their  breakfast  man  and  boy  went 
along  the  park  paths.  Wild  Bill  striding  vigor- 
ously and  breathing  deep  of  the  cool,  sharp  air, 
Tad  trotting  at  his  side  like  a  terrier.  Some- 
times they  sprinted,  Cassidy  senior  tearing  up 
the  graveled  path  with  teeth  set  and  every 
muscle  brought  into  play.    He  came  back  each 


WITH  THE  HELP  OF  GOD  11 

time  with  increasing  confidence,  and  the  boy 
would  say: 

"We  beat  the  throw  a  mile  that  time,  Pop. 
We're  coming  back,  aren't  we? '' 

"  111  inform  the  universe  we  are,''  assented 
the  man. 

At  night  the  liniment  was  produced  and  the 
boy  kneaded  the  muscle  in  Cassidy's  arm,  his 
small  fingers  probing,  pressing  and  massaging 
as  his  father  directed. 

"  The  old  whip's  feeling  better  and  better,'' 
Wild  Bill  exulted.  "  Put  the  pill  through  that 
knot-hole  to-day,  didn't  I?  Wasn't  altogether 
luck  either,  was  it,  son?  " 

"Huh,"  said  Tad,  "I'll  inform  the  universe 
it  wasn't !    That  was  control,  that  was !  " 

The  following  Sunday,  sitting  up  in  the  play- 
ground bleachers,  rooting  with  all  the  energy 
of  his  ninety  pounds.  Tad  Cassidy  saw  Wild 
Bill  shut  out  a  team  from  the  Government 
shipyards,  letting  them  down  with  two  scratch 
hits. 

There  was  an  item  in  the  morning  papers  that 
Cassidy's  arm  had  come  to  life  again.  He 
clipped  the  item,  pasted  it  on  a  piece  of  paper 
and  wrote  under  it: 

*'  Dear  Mac :  I  got  control  and  religion,  and  me  and 
the  kid  are  coming  back." 


12        HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

In  two  weeks  a  reply  came  from  McMasters, 
pilot  of  the  Badgers. 

*'  You  sure  needed  both,  but  the  bushes  don^t  mean 
anything.  Eeport  to  Vancouver  and  let  Randall  look 
you  over." 

There  followed  au  exchange  of  telegrams,  and 
the  Cassidys  went  North.  Wild  Bill  lost  his 
first  start,  but  it  was  the  infield  that  went  to 
pieces.  He  won  the  next  three  games,  and  again 
he  sent  a  newspaper  clipping  to  McMasters,  pen- 
ciling on  the  margin  : 

**  I  put  'em  where  they  don't  like  it,  and  they  can't 
hit  it  where  they  ain't.  Me  and  the  kid  are  coming 
back." 

To  which  McMasters  replied  curtly : 

**  You're  still  in  the  tall  and  uncut.  Have  advised 
McG-ovem  of  St.  Clair  to  take  you  on  option." 

In  mid-August  Randall,  manager  of  the  Van- 
couver club,  sent  for  the  big  Irishman.  "  You 
haven't  got  a  thing  but  a  prayer,  and  yet  you 
win  ball-games.  I  don't  get  you  at  all.  Beat 
it  for  St.  Clair  to-night.  The  Wolves  have 
bought  you,  and  they're  in  a  hole.'' 

In  a  lower  berth  of  the  swaying  train  the  Cas- 
sidys talked  it  over. 

"We're   coming   back,    Pop,"    Tad   insisted. 


WITH  THE  HELP  OF  GOD  13 

*' Didn't  you  curve  'em  a  bit  to-day?     I'll  tell 
the  world  you  did." 

''  Just  a  little,"  assented  Wild  Bill.  "  Didn't 
seem  to  hurt  me  none.  But  you  better  rub  the 
old  soup-bone  some  more  in  the  morning.  Got 
to  'tend  to  business  now." 

*'You  said  something,"  was  the  boy's  sleepy 
reply. 

The  St.  Clair  sporting  writers  said  that  Bill 
Cassidy  had  nothing  but  his  glove  and  a  horse- 
shoe as  big  as  the  Golden  Gate.  Superb  defen- 
sive work  on  the  part  of  the  whole  team  was  all 
that  saved  the  pitcher.  But  with  three  games 
to  his  credit  and  no  defeats,  one  scribe  changed 
his  mind  about  the  Irishman  and  called  him  the 
*^  Matty  of  the  Minors,"  and  argued  that  it  was 
his  head  and  not  his  arm  that  won  for  him. 

Through  it  all.  Tad  Cassidy  held  to  his  cus- 
tomary throne  in  the  grandstand  just  back  of 
the  press-box,  where  he  could  watch  every  ball 
that  Wild  Bill  threw.  His  boyish  treble  sounded 
high  above  the  roar  of  the  fans  when  the  rallies 
came.  His  cry  of  "  Steady,  Pop !  "  when  the  um- 
pire missed  a  strike  and  Cassidy  grunted  wrath- 
ftilly,  became  a  war-cry  of  the  Wolf  supporters, 
when  there  were  runners  on  the  bags.  "  Steady, 
Pop ! "  they  would  cry,  and  Cassidy  would 
tighten  up  like  a  watchspring  and  pitch  himselt 
out  of  trouble. 


14         HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

Once  more  he  collected  a  batch  of  newspaper 
clippings  and  mailed  them  to  McMasters. 

'*  Averaging  .600  with  a  club  in  fifth  place,"  he 
wrote.    ^'  What  more  do  you  want?  " 

No  reply  came  to  this  message,  but  a  week 
later  a  sharp-eyed  little  man  with  a  close- 
cropped  mustache,  entered  the  Wolves'  office  at 
the  ball-park,  and  Cassidy  saw  him. 

Wild  Bill  was  not  surprised  when  he  was  sent 
to  the  mound  that  afternoon,  though  it  was  not 
his  turn  to  work.  He  knew  that  somewhere  in 
the  grandstand  Bob  Hendrix,  scout  for  Mc- 
Masters, would  be  watching  his  every  move. 
Hendrix  had  asked  Donovan  to  pitch  him. 

"Going  back,  son,"  he  chuckled  that  night, 
"  going  back  maybe  to-morrow.  Just  in  time  for 
the  final  drive.    We'll  make  'em  like  it,  boy." 

"  I'm  going  to  sit  on  the  bench  with  you.  Pop," 
Tad  reminded.  "  You  make  sure  of  that.  You 
said  I  should." 

"That'll  be  part  of  the  contract,  son.  That 
goes — ^you  bet  your  life." 

But  the  next  morning,  when  Cassidy  bought  a 
paper  and  looked  at  the  sporting  page,  he 
groaned. 

The  headlines  told  him  Mullins  had  been 
bought  by  the  Badgers — Mullins,  the  young 
southpaw  of  the  Wolves.     Hendrix  had  picked 


WITH  THE  HELP  OF  GOD  15 

him,  and  the  reputed  price  was  ten  thousand 
dollars.  Pitcher  and  scout  had  left  the  same 
night. 

Tad's  blue  eyes  filled  when  he  grasped  the  full 
import  of  the  news.  No  other  club  in  the  majors 
was  as  badly  off  for  pitchers.  The  race  lay  be- 
tween the  Badgers  and  their  old  rivals  the 
Bears.  The  latter  were  coming  with  a  belated 
rush  that  threatened  to  nip  the  leaders  in  the 
last  two  weeks.  The  Badgers  would  hardly  buy 
two  pitchers  from  the  same  club.  Hendrix  had 
seen  Cassidy  in  action  and  was  not  satisfied. 

"Little  bit  of  hard  luct,  son,"  said  Cassidy. 
"  Looks  like  God  ain't  calling  'em  just  right.  The 
Bears  are  loaded  up  with  right-hand  hitters,  and 
a  southpaw  won't  stop  'em.  Tho^e  birds  just 
live  on  speed,  and  that's  all  Mullins  has  got  ex- 
cept a  hook  he  can't  control." 

"  Maybe  they'll  find  that  out  and  send  for  us 
the  last  week,"  hazarded  Tad.  "  Shall  I  pray, 
Pop?" 

"  Uhuh !  "  assented  Cassidy.  "  I  guess  the 
Lord  hates  quitters  as  much  as  anybody  else. 
We'll  string  along." 

The  following  Sunday,  Wild  Bill  Cassidy, 
working  slowly  and  intelligently  against  the 
league  leaders,  achieved  that  goal  of  all  twirlers, 
a  no-hit  game.  The  next  day's  papers  conveyed 
the  information  that  Lefty  Mullins,  the  highly 


16        HEAKTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

touted  youngster  bought  by  McMasters  to  stem 
the  tide  that  had  set  in  against  his  club,  had  been 
batted  from  the  box  by  the  despised  Serpents. 

Two  telegrams  crossed  the  continent  while 
Tad  Cassidy  and  Wild  Bill  were  resting  next 
day.  One  was  from  Father  Philip  O'Eeilly,  ad- 
dressed to  his  old  college  chum,  Mr.  Buck  Mc- 
Masters.   It  read : 

*'  Letter  received.  Would  say  yes.  They  can't 
beat  the  Irish. ' ' 

The  other  message  was  from  McMasters  to 
Senator  Lathrop,  owner  of  the  Wolves : 

**  Terms  accepted  Cassidy.  Transportation  wired. 
Report  Pittsburgh." 

Foghorn  Reilly,  announcer  extraordinary, 
located  the  Cassidys  in  an  ice-cream  parlor 
after  a  two-hour  frantic  search. 

'^  Beat  it !  "  he  bawled.  "  The  Badgers  have 
bought  you.    It's  the  rattler  to-night.    Beat  it!  " 

Tad  Cassidy  fought  his  way  to  the  street  fipst. 
"  Me,"  he  yelled,  "  I  prayed  for  it !  We're  going 
back,  Pop.    We're  going  to  make  'em  like  it !  " 

Hand  in  hand  they  raced  for  a  passing  car. 

Ominous  clouds  and  a  cold  wind  sweeping 
across  the  diamond  could  not  chill  the  fever  heat 
of  twenty  thousand  Pittsburgh  fans  nor  dampen 
the  ardor  of  ten  thousand  loyal  supporters  of  the 


4^B» 


WITH  THE  HELP  OF  GOD  17 

Badgers.  Mc Masters,  by  sheer  grit  and  deter- 
mination, had  brought  his  club  down  the  home- 
stretch and  up  to  the  final  game  three  points  in 
the  lead.  Sweeping  along  like  a  whirlwind  the 
Bears  had  put  two  clubs  out  of  the  running  and 
had  smashed  their  way  into  a  fighting  chance  for 
the  flag.  McMasters  had  used  up  four  pitchers 
in  two  vain  attempts  to  stave  off  the  enemy^s 
vicious  onslaught.  He  had  three  men  in  his 
line-up  who  should  have  been  in  the  hospital. 
They  were  playing  solely  on  their  nerve.  It  was 
a  finish  such  as  fandom  always  prays  for — a 
ding-dong,  hammer-and-tongs  drive  between  the 
leaders  and  the  runners-up,  with  each  club  giving 
all  that  it  had  and  expecting  no  mercy.  The 
National  league  pennant  and  a  share  in  the 
World's  Series  hinged  on  the  outcome  of  the 
day. 

If  anything  was  needed  to  add  to  the  tension 
of  the  crowd,  it  came  with  the  announcement  of 
the  batteries :  "  Sanderson  and  Clarke  for  the 
Bears;  Schaefer  and  Sweeney  for  the  Badgers." 

Sanderson,  the  speed-king  of  the  majors, 
against  Lefty  Schaefer,  the  brilliant  and  erratic 
monarch  of  the  "  spitter."  McMasters  had 
staked  his  all  on  the  ability  of  his  star  southpaw 
to  pull  the  flag  out  of  the  fire. 

All  but  two  people  in  the  vast  throng  felt  the 
thrill  of  the  impending  conflict.    A  tall,  angular 


18         HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

figure  sitting  on  the  players^  bench  of  the 
Badger»  stared  unseeingly  into  a  worn-out  glove. 
A  boy,  attired  too  in  a  striped  gray  uniform, 
wept  bitterly  on  his  knees  in  the  seclusion  of  the 
dark  recesses  under  the  left-field  bleachers.  The 
Cassidys  were  back  in  the  majors,  but  only  as 
spectators. 

The  Badgers,  first  at  bat,  were  set  down  one- 
two-three,  Sanderson  relying  on  a  fast  ball  with 
a  baffling  hop.  The  Bears,  in  their  turn,  chock- 
full  of  ginger  and  confidence,  as  a  ball  team  al- 
ways is  when  coming  from  behind,  opened  up 
their  attack  and  shoved  tWo  runs  across  on  a 
double,  a  triple  and  a  wild  pitch.  In  vain  the 
Badgers  rallied  behind  Schaefer  and  shouted 
encouragement  from  every  corner  of  the  field. 
Only  desperate  fielding  of  the  highest  class — a 
lightning  double  play — pulled  him  out  of  the 
hole. 

In  the  second  inning,  with  two  out,  Sherburne, 
the  Bear  shortstop,  doubled  and  stole  third. 
Schaefer  steadied  a  moment  and  then  served  up 
three  wide  ones  to  the  next  batter.  A  sudden 
burst  of  color  showed  over  the  right-field  bleach- 
ers and  the  grandstand.  Thousands  of  tiny  bal- 
loons, let  loose  by  Pittsburgh  fans,  soared  sky- 
ward. "  Up  in  the  air !  "  they  roared.  "  There 
goes  your  old  ball  game.'' 

Buck  McMasters,  jumping  from  his  dugout, 


WITH  THE  HELP  OF  GOD  19 

tore  for  the  plate  with  upraised  hand.  He  spoke 
briefly  to  Umpire  Burke,  and  then  turned  and 
waved  his  hand  to  a  battery  warming  up  on  the 
left-field  foul  lines.  A  tall  man  nodded,  dis- 
carded a  red  sweater,  and  came  trudging  for- 
ward across  the  diamond. 

The  umpire  removed  his  hat  and  turned  to  the 
grandstand : 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  trumpeted,  "  Cas- 
sidy  now  pitching  for  the  Badgers — Cassidy." 

A  small  figure  raced  out  before  the  dug-out. 

"  Steady,  Pop,"  it  screamed,  "  make  'em  like 
it." 

But  no  one  heard  Tad  Cassidy.  Pittsburgh 
fans  were  howling  their  scorn.  The  visiting 
rooters  were  dumfounded  and  then  noisy  with  a 
great  hope.  In  the  press-box  a  battery  of  news- 
paper men  were  flashing  the  astonishing  news  to 
score-boards  and  newspapers  throughout  the 
country :  Cassidy  was  back  from  the  grave.  The 
wild  man  of  baseball  was  attempting  the  impos- 
sible. 

There  will  always  be  a  dispute  over  the  first 
ball  that  Cassidy  threw.  One  paper  described  it 
as  the  "emery";  another  said  it  was  a  spitter 
that  broke  eighteen  inches.  Babe  Wallace,  who 
was  at  the  bat  with  three  and  two  on  him,  and 
who  missed  it  a  mile,  said  it  was  a  knuckle-ball, 
and  that  Wild  Bill  balked  when  he  threw  it. 


20         HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

But  Tim  Sweeney,  when  lie  laid  aside  his  glove, 
mask  and  protector,  and  trotted  happily  to  the 
bench,  whispered  to  McMasters: 

"  Fast  wind-up  and  a  straight  ball,  so  slow  I 
could  count  the  stitches  as  it  came.  Caught  him 
over-anxious — but,  oh  boy,  if  he  had  hit  it !  " 

Tad  Cassidy,  helping  Wild  Bill  into  the  big 
red  sweater,  hopping  up  and  down  and  shouting 
defiance  to  the  enemy,  infected  the  Badgers  with 
his  sublime  confidence,  and  the  mysterious  qual- 
ity known  in  baseball  as  "  pep.''  A  psychological 
change  came  over  them.  Ball-players  are  super- 
stitious. They  see  good  luck  or  bad  in  any  un- 
usual happening  on  the  diamond.  Cassidy  had 
stopped  the  rally.  Tad  had  come  forward  as  a 
mascot.  They  were  being  helped  from  an  unex- 
pected source. 

"  Only  two  runs,  boys,"  pleaded  Wild  Bill. 
"  Stake  me  to  those  two  runs,  and  we'll  beat 
'em  out." 

And  in  the  fifth  they  gave  him  the  two  runs  he 
asked  for,  and  in  the  seventh,  on  a  single,  a  stolen 
base  and  the  hit-and-run,  Terry  Brennan  scored 
with  the  run  that  put  the  Badgers  in  the  lead 
of  a  three-to-two  score. 

But  the  Bears,  always  a  dangerous  club  on 
the  offensive,  were  beginning  to  find  Cassidy. 
They  saw  his  control  was  perfect  and  it  was  use- 
less to  waste  time  by  waiting  him  out.     The 

/ 


WITH  THE  HELP  OP  GOD  21 

order  went  around  to  hit  the  first  ball;  and  in 
the  eighth,  with  the  top  of  the  batting  order  at 
the  plate,  the  Bears  electrified  their  followers 
with  three  terrific  smashes  to  the  outfield.  Any 
of  the  drives  would  have  been  good  for  three 
bases  had  not  Kabbit  Gardner,  by  supreme  effort, 
got  under  two,  and  Patsy  Ross  taken  the  last  off 
his  shoe-tops. 

"  God  and  a  fast  outfield !  "  said  Cassidy,  as  he 
walked  to  the  bench. 

"  Just  three  more  men.  Bill,"  said  McMasters 
anxiously.    "  Can  you  hold  'em?  " 

"  Steady,  Pop !  "  implored  Tad.  "  Make  'em 
like  it." 

"  Uhuh !  "  assented  Cassidy.  "  But  if  I  get  in 
a  hole,  don't  yank  me.  I'll  hold  'em  if  I  have 
to  break  a  leg.  I  wonder  will  they  let  Brady 
bat  for  Swan?" 

The  Badgers  failed  to  increase  their  narrow 
lead  in  the  first  half  of  the  ninth,  and  Peck 
Greenway,  manager  of  the  Bears,  prepared  to 
hurl  his  pinch-hitters  into  the  fray. 

Changing  his  pace  with  every  ball,  putting  it 
just  where  Sweeney's  signal  called  for,  and  risk- 
ing a  curve  only  when  it  seemed  imperative,  Cas- 
sidy fanned  the  first  man  to  face  him,  and  his 
team  mates  roared  encouragement.  Barton,  up 
next,  reached  for  a  ball  outside  the  plate  and 
placed  it  neatly  over  third.    A  moment  later  he 


22         HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

stole,  and  the  roar  of  the  Pittsburgh  fans  swelled 
like  an  organ  note. 

In  an  agony  of  alarm  Tad  Cassidy  shrieked 
to  his  father :  "  Steady,  Pop — steady !  " 

Peters  lined  to  center  and  was  out  on  a  mag- 
nificent running  catch  that  held  the  runner  at 
second.  Above  the  exultant  yells  of  the  Badgers 
rose  the  challenging  answer  of  the  Bears  as  Bull 
Brady,  swinging  three  bats,  came  forward  to  the 
plate. 

For  the  first  time  in  the  game  Cassidy  looked 
to  his  manager  for  advice,  half  expecting  to  see 
McMasters  flash  him  the  signal  to  walk  Brady. 
But  the  Badger  pilot  shook  his  head  at  Cassidy's 
look  of  inquiry.  With  two  out,  it  was  bad  base- 
ball to  put  the  winning  run  on  the  bags.  He 
must  pitch  to  Brady — Brady,  who  was  too  poor 
a  fielder  for  a  regular  job,  but  as  deadly  a  batter 
in  the  pinches  as  ever  swung  a  club  in  the 
majors. 

Standing  out  there  in  the  center  of  the  dia- 
mond, Cassidy  steeled  himself  for  the  supreme 
test.  He  knew  Brady  would  kill  a  curve  ball 
waist  high  and  on  the  outside.  He  was  crowding 
the  plate  and  set  for  it.  Wild  Bill  drove  the  bat- 
ter back  with  two  fast  balls  straight  at  his  head 
and  then  shot  two  strikes  low  and  just  above  the 
knees,  each  ball  barely  cutting  the  inside  corner. 
Brady  moved  at  neither. 


H* 


WITH  THE  HELP  OF  GOD  23 

Cassidy  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  in  the  shadow 
of  his  glove  held  before  his  mouth,  dripped 
tobacco- juice  upon  the  ball.  All  through  the 
game  he  had  gone  through  the  motion  of  throw- 
ing the  spitball,  but  they  knew  he  was  bluffing. 
He  had  never  thrown  it.  The  ball  had  always 
left  his  hand  dry.    Brady  grinned  derisively. 

"  Steady,  Pop !  '^  The  quavering  cry  from  the 
visitors'  dugout  pierced  the  hush  that  descended 
on  the  park  like  a  blanket. 

Cassidy  pitched.  Almost  as  the  ball  left  his 
hand,  the  Irishman's  heart  swelled  exultantly. 
The  old  sense  of  mastery  was  there.  He  knew 
the  ball  would  break  as  sharply  as  in  the  old 
days,  knew  that  it  was  traveling  straight  for  the 
batter's  waistline  and  that  at  the  last  instant  it 
would  swerve  sharply  across  the  inside  corner  of 
the  plate.    Brady  stepped  back  and  let  it  go. 

For  an  interminable  second,  Dad  Hardy,  dean 
of  major-league  umpires,  hesitated.  Cassidy  and 
his  battery  mate,  and  Bull  Brady  and  the  uni- 
formed figures  of  the  players  quivered  in  their 
positions  awaiting  the  verdict. 

Finally  it  came. 

"Ball  three!" 

Tim  Sweeney  whirled  on  the  umpire,  "no, 
no !  "  he  shrieked.  "  You  can't  call  it  that.  It 
was  over.  Dad — it  was  over!" 

The  catcher's  wild  protests,  backed  up  from 


24        HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

bench  and  coaching-line,  were  swallowed  up  in 
the  triumphant  roar  from  bleachers  and  grand- 
stand. Cassidy  was  in  a  hole.  He  would  have 
to  put  it  over  to  Brady  or  put  the  winning  run 
on  the  paths.  Wild  Bill  came  hurrying  to  the 
plate.  On  his  face  was  the  black  look  of  rage 
that  characterized  him  when  the  hunting  pack 
was  at  his  heels. 

**  You — ^you — ''  he  said  thickly,  "  you  missed  it, 
didn't  you?  You  wasn't  watching  the  break. 
You  damn'  thief,  you've  broke  me." 

Dad  Hardy's  eyes  were  dull  with  the  torpor 
of  self -conviction.  His  mind  had  responded  auto- 
matically to  the  curve  ball  he  had  seen  Cassidy 
using  throughout  the  game.  He  had  not  been 
expecting  the  spitter's  "  break,"  which  did  what 
the  ordinary  curve  did  not.  Only  after  he  gave 
his  decision  did  Hardy  realize  that  he  had  com- 
mitted that  worst  of  all  umpirical  sins — men- 
tally decided  a  play  before  it  was  completed. 
Now  he  could  not  reverse  himself.  The  damage 
was  done. 

Plainly  as  tongue  could  say  it,  Hardy's  eyes 
gave  Cassidy  the  message :  "  I  didn't  mean  to 
boot  it.  Bill — go  easy  on  an  old  man  who  loves 
you." 

"You — ^you — "  stammered  Wild  Bill  and 
shoved  himself  clear  of  restraining  hands.  Tad 
Cassidy,  wearing  the  mascot's  uniform  of  the 


WITH  THE  HELP  OF  GOD  25 

Badgers,    alone    clung    to    his    father's    belt: 

"Pop,"  he  implored,  "don't  let  them  throw 
you  out  of  the  game  now.  Pop — not  when  we're 
almost  back.    Not  that.  Pop — make  'em  like  it !  " 

The  boy's  shrill  voice  penetrated  the  man's 
obsession.  His  brain  cleared.  Once  more  he 
was  master  of  the  situation.  Grandstands  and 
bleachers  were  thundering  defiance.  Cassidy 
took  the  ball  from  his  catcher's  hand  and  beamed 
down  on  his  son. 

"  Tad,"  he  said,  "  wait  over  by  the  gate  for 
me.  In  about  one  minute  we're  going  to  win  this 
old  game. — Do  yon  ?^^  fh^t.  Brady?  " 

The  greatest  pinch-hitter  in  the  majors  trans- 
ferred a  wad  of  chewing-gum  from  the  button  on 
top  of  his  cap  to  his  mouth. 

"  Back  to  the  cemetery,"  he  rejoined.  "  Put  it 
within  ten  feet  of  me,  and  I'll  hit  it  to  Paris." 

Cassidy  made  no  reply.  His  gaunt,  angular 
figure  strode  briskly  to  the  pitcher's  box,  where 
it  stood  a  moment,  a  lonely  reed  in  the  center  of 
the  storm. 

Sweeney's  gnarled  fingers  flashed  the  signal 
for  another  spitter.  Cassidy  shook  his  head. 
The  catcher  signaled  a  curve — then  a  fast  ball 
straight  over.  Still  Cassidy  dissented.  Finally 
Sweeney's  glove  concealed  from  batter  and  the 
opposing  coachers  the  signal  for  which  Cassidy 
was  waiting. 


26        HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

The  pitcher  turned  his  Tjacl  on  the  plate  a 
moment  and  made  a  swift  motion  with  his  glove. 
The  outfielders  moved  back  into  the  shadow  of 
the  fences.  Into  Bull  Brady's  eyes  flashed  the 
light  of  triumph.  He  dug  his  cleats  into  the 
soft  dirt  and  set  himself  for  a  ball  that  would 
come  waist  high  with  all  the  steam  that  Wild 
Bill  could  put  behind  it.  Cassidy  was  going  to 
pitch  his  arm  out  on  the  last  ball  and  try  to 
buzz  it  past  him.  Well,  better  men  than  Cas- 
sidy had  tried  the  same  thing  and  failed. 

Suddenly  Cassidy  coiled  up  like  a  watch- 
spring  and  lunged  forward  in  full  stride.  The 
move  was  unexpectedly  sudden,  but  Brady  was 
alert.  His  quick  eyes  caught  the  line  of  the  on- 
coming ball  shoulder  high  and  on  the  inside. 
There  was  nothing  on  it.  He  stepped  back  so  as 
to  meet  the  ball  well  up  on  the  bat  and  put  the 
whole  force  of  his  burly  body  into  the  swing. 

Not  until  the  swing  was  well  started  did 
Brady's  eyes  telegraph  his  brain  and  muscles  a 
warning.  It  was  not  a  fast  ball  that  was  com- 
ing. Neither  was  it  a  slow  one.  It  was  a  ball 
such  as  a  pitcher  might  have  served  up  in  the 
spring  of  the  year  during  batting-practise.  It 
was  the  very  ball  that  no  pitcher  in  the  world 
could  have  been  expected  to  hang  the  pennant  on. 

In  the  fraction  of  a  second  Brady  slowed  his 
swing.    Ninety-nine  batters  would  have  missed 


WITH  THE  HELP  OF  GOD  27 

the  hall  entirely.  Bull  Brady  was  the  hundredth. 
His  bat  swung  under  and  up.  There  was  the 
crash  of  horsehide  against  wood,  and  a  wild  yell 
from  the  gathered  thousands — a  yell  that  died 
in  the  throats  of  the  Pittsburgh  rooters.  From 
the  ranks  of  the  visitors  went  up  the  roar  that 
only  a  pennant  crowd  can  give. 

Wild  Bill  Cassidy  was  moving  very  slightly 
from  side  to  side,  his  eyes  intent  on  a  small  white 
object  that  was  falling  from  the  sky  into  his  wait- 
ing glove. 

"  A  straight  ball  and  a  change  of  pace,"  mut- 
tered Cassidy.    "  Father  O'Reilly  was  right." 

The  ball  plopped  into  the  Irishman's  cupped 
hands.  Mechanically  he  shoved  it  into  his  hip 
pocket  and  turned  to  go,  ignoring  the  hundreds 
of  fans  who  were  leaping  out  of  the  bleachers. 
He  had  reached  second  base  when  the  advance 
wave  of  the  foaming  multitude  snapped  him  up. 
Somehow  he  managed  to  make  it  clear  that  Tad 
should  be  found  and  hoisted  up  too.  A  hundred 
men  went  in  search  of  him. 

When  a  man  does  come  back,  it  is  usually  with 
both  feet.  And  Wild  Bill  was  back.  A  winding, 
twisting,  howling  avalanche  of  fans  with  the 
two  Cassidys  borne  aloft  at  the  head,  serpentined 
its  way  over  the  Pittsburgh  ball-yard  and  "in- 
formed the  world." 


THE  CKAB 

NOT  until  the  orchestra  at  11:30,  with 
a  cheery  flourish  from  the  clarinets, 
launched  into  a  quaint  little  melody,  did 
the  Crab's  expression  of  disapproval  change. 
Then  his  eyes  sought  a  velvet  curtain  stretched 
across  one  end  of  the  room.  The  drapery  parted 
to  admit  a  slip  of  a  girl  in  a  pink  dress  who  came 
gliding  down  between  the  tables,  slim  white 
arms  swaying  in  rhythm  with  her  song.  The 
Crab,  obeying  a  sentiment  he  did  not  try  to 
analyze,  eyed  her  just  as  he  had  done  every  night 
for  a  week. 

Those  at  the  tables  who  had  been  there  before 
nudged  newcomers  and  whispered :  "  Watch  her 
smile — it's  the  whole  show." 

It  was  a  bright  little  tune — soothing  as  a  lul- 
laby. She  sang  the  second  chorus,  looking 
straight  at  the  Crab: 

'* Smile  a- while,  and  I'll  smile,  too, 
What's  the  good  of  feeling  blue? 
Watch  my  lips — I  '11  show  you  how : 
That's  the  way — ^you're  smiling  now!" 

A  spotlight  from  the  balcony  darted  across  the 

28 


THE  CRAB  29 

room  and  encompassed  the  girl  and  the  man  to 
whom  she  was  singing.  Amid  general  laughter 
and  applause,  the  Crab  squirmed,  reddened  and 
achieved  a  sheepish  grin. 

The  singer  passed  to  other  tables,  the  light 
playing  on  her  yellow  hair  and  accentuating  the 
slimness  of  her  figure. 

**I'm  the  Smile  Girl,  so  folks  say — 
Seems  like  smiles  all  come  my  way. 
Want  to  smile?    Ill  show  you  how: 
That's  the  way — you're  smiling  now.'* 

People  continued  smiling  and  humming  the 
tuneful  melody  long  after  she  had  declined  fur- 
ther encores.  The  Crab  stared  into  the  bottom 
of  his  empty  glass.  His  face  was  still  very  red. 
Her  fingers  had  brushed  the  Crab's  sleeve  as 
lightly  as  a  butterfly's  wing  but  he  was  exalted 
by  the  contact. 

Coast  League  fans  said  of  Bill  Crowley  that  if 
he  ever  learned  to  moderate  his  crabbing,  the 
majors  would  one  day  be  bidding  for  the  greatest 
third  baseman  in  history.  He  was  chain  light- 
ning on  his  feet  and  could  hit  around  .290  in  any 
company.  Moreover,  he  had  perfect  baseball 
hands,  an  arm  of  steel,  and  the  runner  was  yet 
to  wear  spikes  who  could  scare  him  into  expos- 
ing even  a  corner  of  the  bag  if  the  play  was 
close. 


\ 


30         HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

But  Bill  was  a  crab  by  instinct,  preference 
and  past  performances.  He  was  hard-boiled  in 
the  dye  of  discontent,  steeped  in  irritability, — 
a  consistent,  chronic,  quarrelsome  crab,  operat- 
ing apparently  with  malice  aforethought  and  in- 
tent to  commit  mischief. 

Naturally  the  fans  rode  him.  It  is  human  na- 
ture to  poke  sticks  at  a  crab  and  turn  it  over  on 
its  back.  In  time,  a  crustacean  becomes  imbued 
with  the  idea  that  it  was  born  to  be  tonnented, 
hence  it  moves  around  with  its  claws  alert  for 
pointed  sticks.  That  was  the  way  with  Bill 
Crowley,  third-sacker  extraordinary,  and  kicker 
plenipotentiary  to  the  court  of  "  Brick "  Mc- 
Govern,  sorrel-topped  manager  of  the  Wolves. 
Looking  for  trouble,  he  found  it  everywhere. 

At  that.  Bill  the  Crab  was  not  without  a  cer- 
tain justification.  A  third  baseman  has  enough 
woes  without  being  afflicted  with  boils  on  the 
back  of  his  neck.  Such  ailments  belong  by  the 
law  of  retribution  to  the  outfield.  The  fact  that 
little  pink  protuberances  appeared  every  now 
and  then  due  south  from  the  Crab's  collar  but- 
ton, where  the  afternoon  sun  could  conveniently 
find  them,  was  further  proof  that  even  Provi- 
dence had  joined  in  the  general  persecution. 

No  infielder  or  outfielder  ever  threw  the  ball 
right  to  the  Crab.  It  was  either  too  low,  or  too 
high,  or  too  late,  or  on  his  "  meat "  hand.    There 


THE  CRAB  31 

wasn't  a  scorer  on  the  circuit  who  knew  the 
definition  of  a  base  hit.  The  only  time  the  Um- 
pires were  ever  on  top  of  the  play  was  when  Bill 
was  the  runner,  and  then  they  had  their  thumbs 
in  the  air  before  he  even  hit  the  dirt. 

Under  such  circumstances  there  was  nothing 
for  the  Crab  to  do  but  register  his  emphatic  dis- 
approval. This  he  invariably  accomplished  by 
slamming  his  glove  on  the  ground  and  advancing 
on  the  Umpire  stiff-legged  after  the  manner  of  a 
terrier  approaching  a  strange  dog.  Had  there 
been  hair  on  the  back  of  his  neck,  it  would  have 
bristled. 

The  arbiters  of  the  diamond  took  no  chances 
with  the  Crab.  They  waved  five  fingers  at  him 
when  he  took  the  first  step,  and  held  up  both 
hands  when  he  took  the  second.  If  that  didn't 
hold  him,  they  promptly  bestowed  the  Order  of 
the  Tin  Can  by  waving  the  right  arm  in  the  gen- 
eral direction  of  the  shower  baths.  This  meant 
in  all  a  fine  of  twenty  dollars  and  the  familiar 
line  in  the  sporting  extras : 

'*  Crowley  thrown  out  for  crabbing.'* 

In  the  last  game  of  the  season,  the  Crab  dis- 
tinguished himself  by  clouting  a  home  run  in  the 
first  inning  with  the  bases  full,  but  before  the 
contest  was  over  he  was  led  from  the  park  by 
two  policemen,  having  planted  his  cleats  on  the 


32         HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

sensitive  toes  of  Umpire  "  Bull "  Feeney  and 
thereby  precipitated  the  worst  riot  of  the  year. 

McGovern,  astute  pilot  of  a  club  which  had 
won  two  pennants,  clung  to  the  Crab  in  the  for- 
lorn hope  that  time  and  patience  might  work  one 
of  those  miracles  of  the  diamond  which  are 
within  the  memory  of  most  veteran  managers. 

Had  any  one  told  the  red-headed  campaigner 
that  he  would  yet  live  to  see  the  day  when  the 
Crab  would  be  a  spineless  thing  of  milk  and 
water,  pulling  away  from  a  runner's  spikes, 
flinching  under  the  taunts  of  the  bleachers,  ac- 
cepting meekly  the  adverse  decisions  of  the  men 
In  blue,  he  would  have  grinned  tolerantly.  The 
Crab  might  mellow  a  little  with  advancing  years, 
but  lose  his  fighting  spirit?     Not  in  this  world! 

It  was  in  the  spring  of  the  following  year 
when  the  team  came  straggling  into  camp  for 
the  annual  conditioning  process,  and  all  but  the 
Crab  and  one  or  two  others  had  reported,  that 
the  Wolves  were  subjected  to  a  severe  jolt. 

Rube  Ferguson  who  had  an  eye  for  the  dra- 
matic waited  until  the  gang  was  at  morning 
batting  practise.  Then  he  broke  the  astounding 
news. 

"  The  Crab's  got  himself  a  wife." 

The  Wolves  laughed. 

^^AZ-right,"    said    Ferguson,    ^^  al-Tight — ^you 


THE  CRAB  33 

fellows  know  it  all;  I'm  a  liar.  The  Crab's 
been  married  three  months.  I  stood  up  with 
him.  What's  more  you  fellows  know  the 
girl." 

He  took  advantage  of  the  general  paralysis 
that  followed  this  announcement  to  sneak  up  to 
the  plate  out  of  turn.  He  was  still  in  there 
swinging  when  they  came  to  life  and  rushed 
him.  News  is  news,  but  a  man's  turn  at  bat, 
especially  after  an  idle  winter,  is  an  inalienable 
right.    Rube  clung  to  his  club. 

"  Three  more  cuts  at  the  old  apple,"  he  bar- 
gained, "  and  I  tell  you  who  she  is." 

They  fell  back  grumbling.  Ferguson's  last 
drive  screamed  into  left  field  and  whacked 
against  the  fence.  Grinning  contentedly  he  sur- 
rendered his  bat  and  took  his  place  at  the  end 
of  the  waiting  line. 

"  Not  so  bad — I  could  have  gone  into  third 
on  that  baby  standing  up.  Trouble  with  you  fel- 
lows is  you're  growing  old.    Now  I — " 

"  Brick  "  McGovern  raised  a  club  menacingly. 

"Who'd  the  Crab  marry?" 

"Keep  your  shirt  on,"  advised  Ferguson, 
"  I'm  coming  to  that.  It  was  the  blonde  at 
Steve's  Place." 

"  Not  the  Smile  Girl?  "  The  quick  objection 
sprang  from  a  dozen  lips.  "  Not  the  little  queen 
who  sings — not  the  entertainer?  " 


34r        HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

Ferguson  beamed  happily.  He  had  his  sensa- 
tion. 

"  You  said  it/'  he  told  them.  "  The  Smile  Girl 
is  now  Mrs.  Crab.  She  married  Bill  because 
the  whole  world  was  picking  on  him  and  it 
wasn't  right.     Ain't  that  a  dame  for  you?  " 

They  were  inexpressibly  shocked.  The  Smile 
Girl — daintiest  wisp  of  cheer  in  the  city — mar- 
ried to  the  Crab — surliest  lump  of  gloom  in  base- 
ball. The  thing  seemed  incredible  and  yet — that 
was  just  the  sort  of  girl  she  was — gravitating 
toward  any  one  who  was  in  distress.  They  swore 
in  awed  undertones. 

"  What  a  bone-head  play,"  sighed  Boots  Pur- 
nell,  "  what  a  Joe  McGee !  Imagine  any  one,  let 
alone  the  Smile  Girl,  trying  to  live  with  the 
Crab !  Give  her  an  error — Oh,  give  her  six !  " 
He  made  his  sorrowful  way  to  the  plate,  moan- 
ing over  the  appalling  blunder. 

Rube  Ferguson's  rich  tenor  sounded  the  open- 
ing lines  of  the  Smile  Girl's  own  song: 

'*  Smiling  puts  the  blues  to  flight; 

Smiling  makes  each  wrong  come  right — *' 

They  joined  mechanically  in  the  chorus  but 
they  did  not  smile. 

"  Pee-wee  "  Patterson,  midget  second  baseman, 
expressed  what  was  in  every  one's  mind: 

"  If  any  one  can  tame  the  Crab,  it's  Goldi- 


THE  CRAB  35 

locks, — but  I'm  betting  she  slips  him  his  release 
by  June.  I  wonder  will  he  bring  her  to  camp 
with  him?" 

The  Crab  settled  this  point  himself  the  follow- 
ing day  by  showing  up — alone  and  unchastened. 
He  invited  no  questions  and  they  forbore  to 
offer  any.  He  was  as  truculent  and  peevish  as 
ever.  The  food  was  the  bunk ;  some  one  had  the 
room  that  he  was  entitled  to;  the  bushers  were 
too  thick  for  comfort ;  the  weather  was  "  hell," 
and  the  new  trainer  didn't  know  a  "  charley 
horse  "  from  a  last  year's  bunion. 

"  The  Crab's  going  to  have  a  good  year,"  ob- 
served Pee-wee,  "twenty  bucks  says  she  gives 
him  the  gate  by  the  first  of  June.  Who  wants 
it?" 

Rube  Ferguson  whistled  thoughtfully. 

"  If  Brick  will  advance  it  to  me  I'll  see  you," 
he  hazarded.  "  Some  Janes  are  bears  for  punish- 
ment and  the  Crab  ain't  so  worse.  He  made  her 
quit  her  job  and  he  staked  her  to  a  set  of  fur- 
niture and  a  flat.  My  wife  says  they're  stuck  on 
one  another." 

Pee-wee  snorted.  "Fly-paper  wouldn't  stick 
to  Bill  after  the  first  ten  minutes."  He  raised 
his  voice  a  little  in  imitation  of  "  Bull "  Feeney 
addressing  the  grandstand:  "  Batt'ries  for  to- 
day's game,"  he  croaked :  "  The  Smile  Girl  and 
the  Crab.     Bon  soir,— bye-bye— Good-night." 


36         HEAKTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

The.  Rube  grinned.  "  Sure  is  a  rummy  bat- 
tery," he  agreed  ruefully,  "  but  the  bet  stands." 
He  departed  in  search  of  McGovern  and  a  piece 
of  the  bank  roll. 

Those  of  the  Wolves  who  had  not  already  met 
the  Smile  Girl,  and  they  were  mostly  the  rookies, 
learned  to  know  her  in  the  final  days  of  the 
training  season  when  the  Wolves  sought  their 
home  grounds  for  the  polishing  up  process. 

She  was  enough  of  a  child  to  want  to  accom- 
pany the  Crab  to  the  ball  park  for  even  the  morn- 
ing workouts  and  to  say  pretty  things  to  each 
one  individually.  The  Crab  accomplished  the 
introductions  awkwardly,  but  it  was  evident  that 
he  was  very  proud  of  her  and  that  she  was  very 
much  in  love  with  him. 

"  Some  guys  have  all  the  luck,"  lamented 
"  Boots  "  Purnell.  "  If  she  ever  benches  the 
Crab,  1^11  be  the  first  one  to  apply  for  his 
job." 

At  the  opening  game  of  the  season,  the  Smile 
Girl's  pink  dress  and  picture  hat  were  conspicu- 
ous in  the  front  row  of  the  grandstand  just  back 
of  third  base.  Pink  for  happiness,  she  always 
said. 

Rube  Ferguson  confided  an  important  discov- 
ery to  Brick  McGovern  and  others  between  inn- 
ings as  they  sat  in  the  Wolf  dugout. 

"  The  Crab's  keeping  one  eye  on  the  batter  and 


THE  CRAB  37 

the  other  on  his  wife.  I  don't  think  he  knows 
there's  anybody  else  in  the  Park.  They've  got 
a  set  of  signals.  Every  time  the  Crab  starts  to 
splutter,  she  gives  him  the  tip  to  lay  off  the 
rough  stuff,  and  he  chokes  it  back.  Pee-wee, 
you  lose ! " 

The  diminutive  second-sacker  did  not  reply  at 
once.  He  was  searching  wildly  for  his  favorite 
stick.  At  length  he  found  it  and  trotted  off  for 
his  turn  at  the  plate.  He  was  back  shortly,  in- 
sisting loudly  that  the  "last  one  was  over  his 
head." 

"  Now  about  the  Crab  " — ^he  confided  to  Eube, 
*^  everything's  coming  his  way,  get  me?  Wait 
until  we  hit  the  road  for  awhile  and  the  hot 
weather  comes  and  the  ace-in-the-hole  boys  get 
to  working  on  him,  then  we'll  see." 

The  Wolves,  always  a  slow  team  to  round  to 
form  because  of  the  many  veterans  on  the  roster, 
trailed  along  in  the  second  division  and  swung 
north  in  fifth  place  for  their  first  extended  road 
trip. 

Gradually  it  became  apparent  to  all  that 
Pee-wee  Patterson  had  called  the  turn  on  the 
Crab.  He  was  plainly  settling  back  into  his  old 
surly  ways,  snarling  at  the  umpires,  grumbling 
over  the  work  of  the  pitchers,  and  demanding 
angrily  that  McGovern  get  some  one  behind  the 
bat  who  didn't  have  a  broken  arm — this  of  Billy 


38         HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

Hopper  who  could  handcuff  nine  third  basemen 
out  of  ten. 

They  were  on  the  road  four  weeks  and  the 
Crab's  batting  average  climbed  steadily  while 
his  temper  grew  hourly  worse.  This  was  char- 
acteristic. He  seemed  able  to  vent  considerable 
of  his  spite  on  the  inoffensive  leather.  It  was 
the  nerves  of  his  team  mates  that  suffered. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?''  demanded  Patter- 
son, "  now  when  we  hit  the  home  grounds  next 
week, — the  Crab  will  get  the  panning  of  his  life 
and  the  Smile  Girl  will  break  her  heart  over  it. 
I  tell  you  I'm  calling  the  play ! " 

Brick  McGovern  and  Kube  Ferguson  regarded 
their  comrade-at-arms  soberly.  They  felt  that 
he  spoke  the  truth. 

"Well,"  commented  Rube,  "you  can't  bench 
a  man  that's  hitting  over  .300  just  to  spare 
his  wife's  feelings."  And  with  that  understand- 
ing, the  Crab  was  retained  in  the  clean-up  r61e. 

Most  ball  players  have  a  dislike  for  one  or 
more  cities  on  the  circuit.  The  Crab's  pet  aver- 
sion was  the  St.  Clair  grounds.  There,  the  huge 
double-decked  grandstand,  with  its  lower  floor 
on  a  level  with  the  infield  itself  and  not  forty 
feet  from  the  foul  lines,  brought  players  and 
spectators  into  closer  contact  than  was  good  for 
either.    Back  of  the  heavy  screening  and  paral- 


THE  CEAB  39 

lelling  a  well-worn  path  between  the  home 
plate  and  the  dugout  assigned  to  the  home  club, 
stretched  "  Sure  Thing  Row  "  where  men  who 
wagered  money  in  down  town  pool  rooms  before 
the  game  congregated  like  birds  of  prey  to  await 
the  outcome. 

"  Sure  Thing  Row ''  ran  to  checked  suits,  dia- 
monds and  stacks  of  half  dollars,  the  latter  held 
lightly  in  one  hand  and  riffled  with  the  thumb 
and  forefinger  of  the  other.  It  broke  no  law  of 
the  land;  it  knew  its  rights  and  exercised  every 
one  of  them. 

"  The  Row  "  maintained  a  proprietary  interest 
in  the  Crab.  He  was  theirs  by  right  of  discovery. 
In  him  they  recognized  not  only  the  strongest 
link  in  the  Wolf  defense  but  likewise  the  weak- 
est. He  was  an  unconscious  instrument  to  be 
used  or  not  as  the  odds  might  require.  Now  that 
the  Crab  was  married,  the  problem  was  simpli- 
fied. 

It  was  in  the  third  game  of  the  series  that 
Rube  Ferguson,  sitting  beside  Brick  McGovern 
in  the  dugout  while  the  Wolves  were  at 
bat,  reported  to  his  leader  what  was  going 
on. 

"The  ace-in-the-hole  boys  are  after  the  Cl*ab. 
When  he  went  up  to  bat  just  now  they  were 
whispering  stuff  to  him  about  his  wife — get  me, 
Brick?     They're  handing  him  the  laugh  about 


40         HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

the  Smile  Girl.     He'll  blow  up  before  the  inn- 
ing's over.'' 

McGovern  nodded.  His  gnarled  and  sun 
scorched  hands  opened  and  shut  helplessly.  "  I 
know,"  he  groaned,  "  I  know — they  used  to  hand 
it  to  me  like  that  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  my 
wife  and  kids  I'd  have  done  murder  twenty 
times.  There's  no  law  against  insulting  a  ball 
player.  That  goes  with  the  price  of  admission. 
They'll  not  break  the  Crab's  nerve  but  they'll 
get  him  thrown  out.    Ah !  " 

The  gray-clad  figures  in  the  Wolf  dugout 
sprang  to  their  feet.  The  high-pitched  yelp  of 
the  timber  wolf  pierced  the  clamor,  followed  by 
cries  of  "  tear  'em,  puppy !  " 

The  Crab  had  lashed  a  terrific  drive  along 
the  right  field  foul  line  and  was  rounding  first 
base  in  full  stride. 

McGovern  tore  for  the  coaching  box  with  both 
arms  raised,  palms  outward.  Walker  in  right 
field  had  knocked  the  drive  down.  He  had  one 
of  the  best  arms  in  the  league. 

"  None  out,"  yelled  the  Wolf  leader — "  two 
bags — play  it  safe !    Back — go  back !  " 

But  the  Crab  had  eyes  or  ears  for  no  one.  He 
was  running  wild,  bent  only  on  showing  "  Sure 
Thing  Row "  he  was  its  master.  Blind  with 
rage  and  excitement  he  bore  down  on  third  base. 
The  ball  zipped  into  the  hands  of  the  waiting 


THE  CRAB  41 

fielder  in  plenty  of  time.  The  Crab  must  have 
known  he  was  out,  but  he  arose  from  a  cloud  of 
dust,  wildly  denunciatory,  and  frantic  under  the 
jibes  of  the  bleachers  and  the  fox-faced  gentry 
back  of  the  screen. 

In  the  old  belligerent  way,  he  stalked  after 
Tim  Cahill  and  grabbed  the  Umpire  by  the  arm. 

"  You — ^you — ^'^  he  foamed. 

McGovern  dashed  out  on  the  diamond  but  the 
mischief  was  already  done.  Cahill  knew  his 
business  and  he  stood  for  no  breach  of  discipline. 
Freeing  himself  from  the  Crab's  clutch,  he 
jerked  a  thumb  in  the  direction  of  the  club- 
house in  center  field. 

"  You're  through  for  the  day,"  he  snapped, 
"off  the  field  or  I'll  nick  you  for  a  ten  spot. 
Beat  it!" 

McGovern  pulled  his  infielder  away  and 
shoved  him  in  the  direction  indicated. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Bill,"  he  advised,  "  you  were 
out  a  mile." 

The  target  for  a  storm  of  derisive  hoots  the 
Crab  made  his  way  sullenly  along  the  fence  and 
into  the  clubhouse  shadows.  Not  until  he  had 
vanished  from  sight  did  the  last  sibilant  hiss 
die  out. 

McGovern  walked  back  to  the  Wolves  pit  and 
shot  a  quick  glance  at  the  Smile  Girl,  sitting  in 
her  usual  place  just  back  of  third.    All  around 


42         HEARTS  AINTD  THE  DIAMOND 

her,  men  were  laughing  at  the  Crab's  discomfi- 
ture. She  was  smiling  bravely  but  even  at  that 
distance  he  was  certain  that  her  chin  was  quiv- 
ering. 

"  Sure  Thing  Row  "  settled  back  contentedly 
and  winked.  The  Crab  and  his  bludgeon  had 
been  eliminated  from  the  crucial  game  of  the 
series. 

The  Wolves  lost  by  one  run. 

On  the  last  day  of  June,  just  before  the  club 
left  for  another  long  swing  around  the  circle, 
Rube  Ferguson  encountered  little  Patterson  in 
front  of  the  clubhouse.  He  drew  the  midget 
aside  and  handed  him  a  twenty  dollar  bill. 

"  Much  obliged,''  acknowledged  Pee- wee, 
«  what's  the  idea?  " 

"  The  Crab's  wife  has  left  him.'' 

"No!" 

"  Yes.  She's  been  gone  three  days.  She  told 
my  wife  he  came  home  and  beefed  because  she 
was  sewing  something,  and  she  said  she  could 
stand  his  crabbing  about  everything  else  but 
that/' 

The  second  baseman  looked  incredulous. 

"  Seems  like  somebody's  got  their  signals 
crossed,  don't  it?  Why  should  that  get  her  goat 
particularly?    What  was  she  sewing?  " 

The  Rube  shrugged.  "What  do  women  al- 
ways sew?    The  money's  yours." 


M 


'"% 


THE  CRAB  43 

The  little  infielder's  eyes  hardened.  "  I'm 
clean,"  he  admitted.  "  I  haven't  got  a  red — but 
you  put  that  twenty  back  in  your  pocket  or  I'll 
beat  you  to  death." 

Ferguson  nodded  his  comprehension.  "  I  feel 
that  way  about  it,  too.  There's  something  like- 
able about  the  Crab  but  I've  never  found  out 
what  it  is.    Will  he  be  better  or  worse  now?  " 

"  Does  a  Crab  ever  change?  "  asked  Pee-wee. 

During  the  next  few  weeks  it  seemed  as  though 
Patterson's  question  could  admit  of  but  one  an- 
swer. The  Crab  drew  if  anything  a  little  closer 
into  his  shell.  He  was  more  morose,  more  savage 
in  the  clubhouse  and  on  the  diamond.  He 
snarled  his  refusals  when  they  offered  him  the 
usual  hand  of  poker  up  in  Boots  Purnell's  hotel 
room.  When  they  left  the  clubhouse  in  the 
afternoons,  he  disappeared  and  they  did  not  see 
him  until  the  next  morning.  They  forbore  to 
question  him.  The  ball  players'  code  of  ethics 
does  not  include  discussion  of  domestic  aver- 
ages. While  he  continued  to  hit  and  field  as  he 
was  doing,  he  was  entitled  to  behave  off  the 
diamond  in  any  way  he  saw  fit. 

Not  until  August  when  the  Club  was  in  third 
place  and  going  like  a  whirlwind,  did  the  Crab 
give  any  indication  that  he  missed  the  slim  lit- 
tle figure  in  the  pink  dress  who  used  to  blow 
him  kisses  from  the  grandstand. 


44         HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

Then,  so  gradually  that  they  had  difficulty  iu 
comprehending  the  process,  something  under  the 
Crab's  shell  began  to  disintegrate. 

It  was  his  hitting — that  infallible  barometer 
to  a  ball  player's  condition,  that  fell  off  first. 
Not  that  the  Crab  didn't  connect  just  as  fre- 
quently as  ever,  but  his  swings  lacked  the  old 
driving  power.  Outfielders  who  used  to  back 
against  the  fence  when  he  came  up,  now  moved 
forward  and  had  no  trouble  getting  under  the 
ball.  From  fourth  place  in  the  batting  order 
he  was  dropped  to  sixth  and  then  seventh  with- 
out result.  His  huge  shoulders  seemed  devi- 
talized. 

Next  it  was  his  fielding.  He  fumbled  ground 
balls  t»>at  ordinarily  would  have  given  him  no 
troubZ  /  He  was  slow  on  his  feet  and  erratic 
in  his  iihrowing. 

"  Jiggs  "  Peterson,  guardian  of  the  right  field 
pasture,  called  still  another  deficiency  to  the  at- 
tention of  the  entire  club  one  afternoon  when, 
in  a  tight  game  with  the  Saints,  a  runner  slid 
safely  into  third  despite  a  perfect  throw  from 
deep  right. 

"  I  had  that  guy  nailed  by  twenty  feet,"  he 
complained  to  the  Crab,  "  and  you  let  him  slide 
into  the  bag.  What's  the  idea  of  taking  the  ball 
in  back  of  the  sack?  " 


THE  CKAB  45 

The  Crab's  only  reply  was  a  mnmbled :  "  you 
peg  'em  right  and  I'll  get  'em." 

"Jiggs  has  called  the  turn,"  whispered  Pee- 
wee,  "the  Crab  is  pulling  away  from  the  run- 
ner's spikes  right  along.    I  don't  understand  it.'^ 

"  Nor  I,"  Ferguson  responded,  "  there  was  a 
time  when  he  would  have  broken  Jiggs  in  two 
for  trying  to  call  him  like  that." 

The  next  day  the  Crab,  seated  beside  his  man- 
ager in  the  dugout,  turned  suddenly  to  Mc- 
Govern. 

"  Brick — I  can't  find  her — it's  August  and  I 
can't  find  her." 

McGovern  masked  his  surprise.  The  Crab's 
eyes  were  blood-shot,  the  lines  on  his  weather- 
beaten  face  sunk  to  unnatural  depths.  Several 
times  McGovern  opened  his  mouth  but  the  right 
words  did  not  occur  to  him. 

"  I  can't  find  her,"  reiterated  the  Crab  dully. 
"  I  lost  her,  and  I  can't  find  her." 

McGovern  scraped  in  the  soft  dirt  with  his 
cleats.  He  spoke  as  one  man  to  another.  "  I'm 
sorry.  Bill,  I  didn't  know  just  how  you  felt 
about  it." 

The  Crab  contemplated  the  palm  of  a  worn-out 
glove.    The  muscles  of  his  face  twitched. 

"  I  thought  it  was  doll  clothes  she  was  sew- 
ing. Brick — she's  such  a  kid.  Honest  to  God  I 
thought  it  was  doll's  clothes.    I  never  knew  dif- 


46         HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

ferent  until  I  read  her  note.  Now  you  know 
why  I  got  to  find  her." 

The  pilot  of  the  four-time  pennant  winners 
was  again  bereft  of  speech.    He  nodded  slowly. 

"  She  left  no  address,"  continued  the  third 
baseman.  "  She  thought  I  was  crabbing  at  her 
because — "  his  voice  cracked  sharply. 

The  Wolves  came  trooping  noisily  in  from 
across  the  diamond.  Their  sorrel-topped  pilot 
threw  an  arm  carelessly  around  the  Crab's 
shoulders. 

"The  Smile  Girl  couldn't  hold  a  grudge 
against  any  one,"  he  whispered,  "you'll  hear 
from  her  one  of  these  days.  Why  man,  any  one 
could  see  she  was  nuts  about  you ! " 

The  Crab's  fingers  closed  on  his  leader's  arm 
with  a  grip  that  made  McGovern  wince. 

"  You  think  so.  Brick — on  the  level?  " 

"  On  the  level.  Bill." 

That  afternoon  the  Crab  got  two  hits,  the  first 
he  had  negotiated  in  a  week,  but  as  the  fifteenth 
of  August  approached,  he  slumped  again,  and 
McGovern  benched  him  and  made  three  unsuc- 
cessful attempts  to  bolster  up  the  one  weak  spot 
in  his  infield.  But  good  third  basemen  are  not 
lying  around  loose  in  the  middle  of  August.  The 
Crab  at  his  worst  was  better  than  the  new- 
comers and  McGovern  put  him  back  in  the  fray. 
Two  out  of  three  major  league  scouts  who  had 


THE  CEAB  47 

been  attracted  by  the  Crab's  hitting  and  who  had 
lingered  in  the  hope  that  he  would  emerge  from 
his  slump,  packed  their  grips  and  went  else- 
where. The  third  man  was  a  product  of  the 
school  of  McGraw.  He  studied  the  Crab  through 
half-closed  eyelids  and — stayed. 

With  seven  weeks  of  the  season  still  unplayed, 
the  Wolves  returned  from  a  southern  trip  in 
second  place.  The  fine  lines  of  worry  between 
McGovem's  eyes  deepened.  He  caught  himself 
watching  the  apathetic  figure  of  the  Crab  and 
praying  that  the  third  baseman  would  regain 
just  a  little  of  his  old  fighting  spirit. 

And  then  one  afternoon  just  before  the  Um- 
pire called  the  Wolves  and  Tigers  together  for 
the  opening  game  of  the  week,  Rube  Ferguson, 
idol  of  the  right  field  bleachers,  tossed  -a  number 
of  neatly  folded  newspapers  into  the  pit. 

"Compliments  of  ^Pebble  Pop,'  champion 
groundkeeper  of  the  world,"  he  told  them,  "  pipe 
the  write-up  they  gave  the  old  boy." 

The  Crab  opened  his  paper  listlessly,  glanced 
over  the  tribute  to  the  veteran  caretaker,  and 
permitted  the  pages  to  slip  to  the  concrete  floor 
of  the  dugout.  He  was  in  the  act  of  thrusting 
the  paper  aside  with  his  cleats,  when  his  eye 
caught  a  single  word  in  black  face  type  up  near 
the  top  of  the  column  on  the  reverse  side  of  the 
sporting  page.     It  was  his  own  name.     Hyp- 


48         HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

notically,  he  picked  up  the  page  and  stared  at 
it.  The  words  that  followed  the  black  faced 
capitals  burned  themselves  into  his  brain. 

A  sharp  ejaculation  caused  McGovern  to  look 
up.    The  Crab's  teeth  were  chattering. 

"What's  wrong?" 

"  N-n-nothing/'  stammered  the  Crab.  The 
paper  rustled  from  his  nerveless  hands.  He 
straightened  up,  looked  around  wildly  and  then 
walked  up  and  out  of  the  pit — straight  as  a  chalk 
line  to  the  exit  back  of  first  base.  With  the  en- 
tire team  watching  him,  open-mouthed,  the  Crab 
wrenched  savagely  at  the  gate.  A  special  officer 
drew  the  bolt,  and  the  third  baseman  disap- 
peared into  the  crowd,  uniform  and  all. 

Pee-wee  Patterson  broke  the  silence. 

"  I  knew  it  was  coming.  He's  cuckoo.  Some- 
body better  follow  him." 

But  Brick  McGovern  was  scanning  the  paper 
that  the  third  baseman  had  dropped. 

"  Cuckoo,  nothing,"  he  exclaimed,  "  the  Crab 
has  found  his  wife ! '' 

They  all  saw  it  then — two  lines  of  agate  type 
that  began :    "  CROWLEY—" 

The  paper  was  eight  days  old. 

A  sorrel  topped  Irishman  with  a  fighting  face, 
but  rather  too  generous  about  the  middle  for  per- 
fect condition,  plodded  up  the  steps  of  St.  Jo- 


THE  CRAB  49 

seph^s  Hospital  at  dusk.  One  hand  grasped  a 
bouquet  of  pink  roses. 

"  Ah,  yes/^  said  the  little  woman  in  the  office, 
"  — second  floor  of  the  Annex — Room  41." 

McGovern  located  the  room  and  tapped  gently 
on  the  white  door. 

"  Come  in,"  chirped  a  voice. 

The  pilot  of  the  Wolves  turned  the  knob  dubi- 
ously and  peered  into  the  room. 

The  Smile  Girl  was  sitting  up  in  bed.  Her 
eyes  were  bright  with  the  look  that  comes  to  a 
woman  who  has  borne  her  mate  his  first  man- 
child.  She  beckoned  to  McGovern  and  then  held 
a  pink  finger  to  her  lips. 

"  S-sh !  "  she  whispered,  "  look !  " 

In  an  arm  chair  facing  the  window  and  away 
from  the  door,  McGovern  made  out  a  familiar 
figure,  still  in  uniform.  It  was  rocking  gently 
back  and  forth,  cleats  tapping  on  the  linoleum 
covered  floor,  and  as  it  rocked  it  sang  most  un- 
musically to  a  rose  colored  bundle  held  awk- 
wardly over  one  shoulder : 

** Smile  awhile — and  I'll  smile,  too, 
What's  the  good  of  feeling  blue? 
Watch  my  lips — 1 11  show  you  how : 
That's  the  way — ^you're  smiling  now!" 

McGovern  blew  his  nose.  The  singing  stopped 
abruptly. 


50         HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

"  Honey/'  said  the  Smile  Girl,  "  bring  William 
Junior  to  me.  You've  had  him  for  most  an  hour 
and  I  want  to  show  him  to  Mr.  McGovern." 

The  Crab's  cleats  click-clacked  across  the 
room.  He  held  up  the  bundle  for  McGovern's 
inspection. 

"  I'd  let  you  hold  him,  Brick,"  he  confided, 
"  but  it's  got  to  be  done  just  a  certain  way.  The 
nurse  put  me  wise;  see — ^you  keep  one  hand  back 
of  the  neck  and  shoulders,  so  you  don't  do  no 
fumbling." 

McGovem  nodded.  He  deposited  the  roses  on 
the  bed  and  laid  the  tip  of  one  pudgy  finger  ever 
so  lightly  on  the  cheek  of  the  sleeping  infant. 

"  Some  kid,"  he  marveled,  "  some  kid! " 

The  Smile  Girl  emitted  a  cry  of  surprise. 
From  an  envelope  attached  to  the  roses  she  had 
extracted  a  hundred  dollar  bill. 

"  What's  that?  "  demanded  the  Crab  crossly, 
"  what  you  trying  to  put  over.  Brick?  I  haven't 
touched  a  bean  of  my  salary  for  three  months. 
I  don't  need — " 

"  Shut  up !  "  admonished  McGovern.  "  Can't 
I  take  an  option  on  the  little  fellow's  services  if 
I  want  to?  Look  at  those  hands.  Bill — ain't  they 
made  for  an  infielder — they're  yours  all  over — 
he's  got  your  eyes  and  your  hair  and — " 

The  baby  squirmed  and  moved  its  hands  rest- 
lessly.    The  lusty  wail  of  a  perfectly  healthy 


THE  CKAB  51 

and  hungry  man-cub  brought  a  nurse  hurrying 
into  the  room. 

With  obvious  reluctance,  Bill  Crowley  sur- 
rendered his  possession.  He  brushed  one  hand 
hastily  across  his  eyes. 

"  Darn  little  crab/'  he  said  huskily,  "  he  does 
look  like  me  just  a  little  bit,  don^t  he  Brick?  " 

"  Digger  "  Grimes,  base-runner  par-excellence, 
flashed  past  first  and  second  in  an  ever-widening 
circle  and  headed  for  third.  He  was  well  be- 
tween the  two  bags  when  "  Pee-wee  "  Patterson, 
crouched  in  short  center,  took  the  throw  from 
his  old  and  esteemed  friend  Kube  Ferguson  and 
with  a  single  motion  shot  the  ball,  low  and  a 
trifle  wide  of  the  waiting  figure  at  third. 

It  was  the  s^enth  inning  of  the  last  game  of 
the  season,  ^^irly  thousand  fans  in  bleachers 
and  grandstand  rose  to  their  feet.  The  play  was 
close,  so  close  that  men  forgot  to  breathe. 
Twenty  feet  from  the  bag,  the  runner  made  his 
leap.  Spikes  flashed  in  the  sunlight  menacingly. 
"  The  Digger ''  was  coming  in  at  an  angle  oppo- 
site to  the  guardian  of  the  bag — charging  with 
his  fangs  bared! 

At  the  same  instant,  a  heavy-shouldered  figure 
in  the  familiar  uniform  of  the  champion  Wolves, 
swept  up  the  ball  with  one  bare  hand  and  flung 
himself  headlong  in  the  path  of  the  plunging 


52         HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

runner.  The»  two  figures  thudded  together — 
threshed  a  moment  in  a  flurry  of  arms  and  legs 
and  then  were  still. 

With  his  cleats  still  six  inches  from  the  bag, 
"  Digger  ^'  Grimes  found  himself  pinned  to  the 
dirt  under  180  pounds  of  inexorable  bone  and 
muscle. 

Out  from  a  cloud  of  dust,  while  the  bleachers 
and  grandstand  rocked  in  a  tempest  of  glee,  came 
an  indignant  bellow: 

"  He's  out — ^I  tell  you ! — he  ain't  touched  the 
bag  yet — he's  out!" 

The  Crab  catapulted  to  his  feet  and  advanced 
on  Dan  McLaughlin.  The  Umpire  turned  mild 
blue  eyes  on  the  Wolf  infielder. 

*^  I  called  him  out,"  he  protested,  "  what  do 
you  want — a  written  notice?  " 

The  Crab  blinked  a  moment,  and  stalked  back 
to  his  position.  From  under  the  visor  of  his  cap 
he  shot  a  swift  glance  at  the  crowded  benches 
just  back  of  third.  A  blur  of  pink  and  a  smaller 
blur  of  blue  showed  up  against  the  dark  back- 
ground of  masculine  fandom  and  told  him  all  he 
wished  to  know. 

The  Crab's  chest  expanded,  as  is  only  proper 
when  a  man  has  got  his  two  hits.  Pounding  the 
palm  of  his  worn  glove,  he  dug  his  cleats  into 
the  dirt  and  set  himself  for  the  next  play. 

"Come  on,"  he  called,  "get  the  next  man! 


THE  CRAB  53 

Ump — it^s  too  bad  you  only  got  one  lung — can^t 
call  a  play  louder  than  a  whisper,  can  you? 
Pipes  all  rusty,  huh?  too  bad!" 

Over  in  the  Wolf  dugout,  a  red-headed  man- 
ager who  had  seen  his  club  climb  into  the  lead 
in  the  closing  days  of  the  gruelling  struggle, 
smiled  faintly  and  stared  with  unseeing  eyes 
across  the  diamond.  His  fingers  twisted  a  tele- 
gram that  had  come  to  him  that  morning  from 
New  York. 

Ten  thousand  dollars  cash  and  spring  delivery 
is  too  tempting  an  offer  for  any  minor  league 
manager  to  reject.  But  there  would  be  a  wide 
hole  at  third  base  next  year,  and  Brick  Mc- 
Govern  was  already  wondering  how  he  would 
ever  plug  it. 


LEAVE  IT  TO  ANGEL-FACE 

HIS  unclad  figure  sprawled  face  downward 
on  the  rubbing-table,  ^^  Long  Tom  "  Hen- 
derson, winner  of  the  opening  day's 
pitching  duel,  lay  with  closed  eyes  and  every 
nerve  quivering  under  the  strain  of  an  infinite 
weariness.  Above  him,  moving  with  the  deft- 
ness of  the  professional  trainer,  "  Blinker " 
Burke  rubbed  and  kneaded  the  protesting  mus- 
cles, sluiced  cool  alcohol  over  the  heaving  shoul- 
ders and  the  sun-baked  neck,  and  beat  with  the 
edge  of  his  open  hands  a  sharp  tattoo  on  calves 
and  thighs.  The  air  of  the  little  room  was  foul 
with  the  odor  of  liniment  and  perspiring  flesh. 

"How's  it,  Tom?''  The  trainer's  voice  was 
anxiously  solicitious. 

The  man  on  the  table  groaned  and  rolled  over. 
"  A  bit  more  on  the  legs.  Blinker,"  he  grunted — 
"  they're  all  knotted  up.  Fifteen  innings  on 
the  opening  day — can  you  beat  it?  Three  hours 
and  twelve  minutes — ^just  waiting  me  out — 
that's  what  they  were  doing — not  a  man  taking 
the  first  or  the  second  ball — ^just  making  me 
pitch  to  them,  figuring  I  couldn't  stand  the 
pace — " 

64, 


;Ma*>. 


LEAVE  IT  TO  ANGEL-FACE  55 

"  But  you  fooled  'em,  Tom — leave  it  to  the  old 
boy/' 

"  Eighth  time,  Blinker — eighth  time  Long 
Tom  has  won  the  opener  for  this  club — ^hope 
the  boys  will  hit  better  behind  me  next  year, 
though.  Fifteen  innings — fifteen — "  His  voice 
trailed  off  into  a  tired  and  protesting  mumble. 

Blinker  redoubled  his  efforts,  but  every  pat 
of  his  hand,  every  touch  of  the  fingers  on  the 
once  pliant  muscles  of  the  man  stretched  before 
him  told  its  story.  Long  Tom  Henderson  was 
slipping — the  resiliency  of  youth  was  already 
gone. 

It  was  a  familiar  story  to  the  trainer  grown 
gray  in  the  service  of  many  clubs.  For  twenty 
years  Blinker  Burke  had  prepared  human 
bodies  for  sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  the  great  god 
of  baseball.  Bushers  and  veterans,  stars  and 
substitutes — he  handled  them  all  much  as  a 
tailor  measures  off  material,  estimating  the 
quality  and  the  probable  length  of  service  of 
each  human  body  over  which  he  toiled.  Many  a 
ball-player  came  to  Blinker  in  the  full  flush 
of  virile  youth,  and  the  trainer  rejoiced  in  the 
feel  of  pliant  sinews,  soft  as  silk  and  yet  capable 
as  springs  of  finest  steel.  Sometimes  they  passed 
from  under  his  care  more  vigorous  and  well- 
oiled  than  ever ;  more  often  they  remained,  to  dry 
up  like  a  sponge  from  which  the  last  drop  of 


56         HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

youth  has  been  squeezed.  When  that  time  came 
the  trail  to  the  bushes  loomed  just  ahead,  and 
the  trail  was  short. 

Long  Tom  assumed  a  sitting  posture  and 
draped  a  towel  about  his  waist. 

"  Fifteen  innings/'  he  reiterated  dully ;  "  time 
was  when  I  could  have  blanked  them  in  nine. 
Let  me  out,  Blinker,  or  they'll  be  busting  in  the 
door." 

He  edged  into  the  main  dressing-room 
through  a  lane  of  tired  men  waiting  for  their 
turn  on  the  rubbing-table,  and  picked  his  way 
across  a  floor  littered  with  towels,  uniforms  and 
suitcases.  When  half-dressed,  he  noted  a  slim 
figure  moving  toward  the  clubhouse  exit  and 
called  to  him.  The  youngster  approached,  grip 
in  hand. 

"  Nice  work,  *  Babe,' ''  said  Long  Tom. 
*^  When  Parker  got  hurt  and  the  Chief  sent  you 
in,  I  figured  I  was  done  for,  but  you  certainly 
caught  a  swell  game,  you — "  He  bent  puzzled 
eyes  on  the  youngster's  left  hand,  the  palm  of 
which  was  pink  and  puffed  a  half  inch  out  of 
proportion.  "What's  the  matter  with  the 
mitt?  " 

The  owner  of  the  swollen  hand  grinned. 
**Fast  balls — that's  what's  the  matter.  I'm  tell- 
ing you,  you  were  burning  'em  in !  No  padding 
in  my  glove,  and  I  didn't  dare  take  a  chance 


LEAVE  IT  TO  ANGEL-FACE  57 

with  any  other."  He  blew  cool  air  upon  the 
burning  skin. 

Long  Tom  whistled  sympathetically.  "  You 
mean  to  tell  me  you  had  no  padding  in  your 
glove  while  you  were  calling  for  me  to  cut  loose? 
Why  didn't  you  ask  me  to  slow  up?  " 

"  Because  they  couldn't  hit  your  fast  ball — 
that's  why,"  explained  the  catcher ;  "  when  I'm 
working  with  a  guy,  I  want  him  to  give  me  the 
best  he's  got.  As  soon  as  I  put  on  a  little  more 
weight,  it  won't  jar  me  so  much.  Meanwhile,  I 
guess  I  can  stand  it." 

"  You  want  to  get  a  beefsteak,"  advised  Long 
Tom  earnestly. 

"  Sure,"  agreed  the  youngster ;  "  I  eat  one 
every  night — that  and  French  fried — " 

"  No,  no,"  corrected  Long  Tom,  "  a  raw 
steak  to  put  in  your  glove.  It  will  heal  your 
hand  and  at  the  same  time  take  up  all  the  shock. 
There  was  a  guy  that  used  to  catch  me  in  Brook- 
lyn who  first  pulled  that  stunt.  I'll  tip  you  off 
to  a  way  he  had,  too,  of  blocking  a  guy  off  the 
plate,  that  was  a  bear.    Say,  are  you  married?  " 

"  No." 

"  Located  yet?  " 

u  No." 

"Well,"  said  Long  Tom,  ^ol  course  you 
can  suit  yourself,  but  most  of  the  boys  double 
up  and  take  rooms  in  the  officials'  hotels  around 


S8         HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

the  circuit,  where  we  get  cut  rates.  I  used  to 
have  "  Red ''  Smith  as  my  room-mate  before  he 
went  to  St.  Louis.  Now,  if  you  don't  mind  snor- 
ing, why—'' 

"  Great  stuff,"  enthused  Babe.  "  I'm  sure 
much  obliged.  You  don't  need  to  worry  about 
snoring.  I  bat  .400  myself  in  that  league. 
Where  do  we  eat?  " 

And  in  such  simple  manner  was  fashioned 
the  bond  of  friendship  between  Long  Tom 
Henderson,  veteran  twirler  of  the  Coast  League 
Tigers,  and  Babe  Randall,  the  smartest  young 
catcher  who  ever  donned  a  mask  in  the  minors. 
It  was  a  friendship  born  of  mutual  respect  and 
admiration,  and  a  common  love  of  the  great  out- 
'doors.  There  was  no  trick  of  the  diamond  that 
Long  Tom  Henderson  ,had  not  mastered.  He 
taught  them  all  to  his  battery-mate,  and  Babe 
mastered  them  quickly.  In  return,  the  young 
catcher  developed  an  extraordinary  facility  for 
getting  out  from  behind  the  plate  after  a  bunted 
baU. 

Fielding  his  position  was  Long  Tom's  weak 
point^ — particularly  a  bunted  ball  that  was  in 
too  close  for  the  third  baseman  and  out  too 
far  for  the  ordinary  catcher;  a  teasing,  baffling, 
slowly  rolling  ball  that  called  for  supple  legs 
and  a  sound  back  working  in  unison  to  beat  the 
flying  runner  headed  for  first. 


LEAVE  IT  TO  ANGEL-FACE  59 

The  Oaks  tried  to  bunt  Henderson  off  the  field 
and  into  retirement,  but  Randall  broke  up  play 
after  play  by  flashing  out  into  the  pitcher's  ter- 
ritory. Fitzsimmons  of  the  Beavers  risked  his 
reputation  on  a  bunt  along  the  first  base  line, 
and  Long  Tom's  battery-mate  threw  the  runner 
out  by  two  full  steps. 

After  that,  when  Randall  was  working  behind 
the  plate,  opposing  teams  did  not  take  advan- 
tage of  Henderson's  weakness  on  bunted  balls. 
Long  Tom  was  duly  appreciative  and  said  so. 

"  Shucks,"  commented  the  catcher,  "  if  I  ever 
get  into  the  big  money,  it  will  be  because  of  your 
help.  You  and  me  are  fifty-fifty.  One  of  these 
days  we'll  grab  ourselves  a  section  down  in  the 
Imperial  Valley  and  go  to  farming." 

"  Now  you're  talking,"  said  Long  Tom. 
"  Hogs  and  alfalfa  with  a  dairy  on  the  side  and 
some  one  to — " 

"  We  can  do  all  the  work  ourselves,  Tom ;  we 
don't  need  no  help  unless  maybe  it's  a  China- 
man to  do  the  cooking." 

Long  Tom  flushed  slightly  under  the  tan. 
"  I  hate  Chink  cooking,"  he  confessed.  "  I  was 
merely  thinking  that  maybe — I  was  just  think- 
ing of  something  else,"  he  concluded  lamely. 
**  I'm  thirty-five,  you  know." 

Babe  Randall  did  not  see  the  relevancy  of 
his  friend's  remark.     He  was  engaged  at  that 


60         HEAKTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

moment  in  his  daily  task  of  oiling  the  short, 
chunky  bludgeon  with  which  he  had  batted  his 
way  into  the  charmed  circle  of  .300  hitters. 

But  Long  Tom  Henderson  stared  dreamily 
into  space,  and  the  vision  that  came  to  him  had 
nothing  to  do  with  hogs  or  alfalfa,  or  even  base- 
ball. 

"  Pop "  Dugan's  chop  house  was  on  Main 
Street  just  above  Sixth,  where  electric  trains 
spread  out  for  mountains  and  seashore  like  the 
five  fingers  of  your  hand.  There  were  many  pic- 
tures on  the  walls,  framed  photographs,  all  of 
ball  players,  for  Pop  had  at  various  times  in 
his  eventful  career  been  a  pitcher,  an  outfielder, 
and  one  of  the  Coast  League's  few  respected 
umpires. 

To  have  your  picture  anywhere  on  the  south 
wall,  between  those  of  "  Roaring  Bill "  Slattery 
and  "  Mysterious ''  Miller,  was  to  be  listed  among 
the  immortals,  but  to  be  posted  up  by  the  en- 
trance opposite  the  cash  register  and  the  tooth- 
pick holder — ah,  that  was  to  bask  in  the  smile 
of  Dugan's  daughter  and  to  be  the  envy  of  all 
good  men  and  true  who  wield  the  ash  and  hurl 
the  horsehide,  and  at  evenings  gather  at  "  Pop's  " 
for  arguments  and  rib  steaks  medium. 

The  day  after  the  Tigers  took  a  double 
header  from  the  Oaks,  thereby  moving  into  first 


LEAVE  IT  TO  ANGEL-FACE  61 

place,  the  photo  of  Babe  Randall  was  moved 
from  the  south  wall  to  a  point  nearer  the  door 
and  not  two  inches  distant  from  a  picture  which 
bore  in  a  large  irregular  hand  the  inscription 
"  Yours  truly,  Tom  Henderson." 

Among  those  who  noticed  the  change  were 
Pop  Dugan  and  ninety  per  cent  of  his  regu- 
lar patrons.  No  one  was  surprised.  Were  not 
Long  Tom  and  Babe  battery-mates — room-mates 
— twin  stars  in  the  Tiger  constellation?  What 
more  ijatural  than  that  Norah  Dugan  should 
afford  them  equal  honor  in  the  gallery  of  the 
elect? 

"  But  Angel-Face,'^  cautioned  "  Pop,"  "  Norah 
darlin' — don't  get  your  signals  crossed — they're 
both  fine  lads  and  steady  customers.  You  can't 
have  two  runners  on  the  one  bag,  mind." 

"Can't  I?"  retorted  Norah,  "well,  you  just 
leave  it  to  Angel-Face !  "  And  to  Norah  with  her 
violet  eyes,  flaxen  hair  and  seraphic  smile — was 
left  the  decision. 

The  same  night,  when  the  battery-mates 
dropped  in  for  their  regular  onslaught  against 
the  city's  supply  of  rib  steaks  she  got  her  first 
test  as  an  umpire. 

"  There  is  a  swell  show  on  at  the  Grand,"  said 
Long  Tom,  "  I  was  thinking,  Angel-Face,  that 
since  Babe  here  is  going  to  turn  in  early  to-night, 
you  and  I  might — " 


62         HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

"  Off  your  foot—"  interjected  Randall,  "  off 
your  foot,  you  big  hay-baler;  Angel-Face  and  I 
are  going  to  the  dance  at  Venice — she  prom- 
ised." 

"I  did  not,"  said  Angel-Face;  "you  boys  are 
coming  out  to  my  house.  Pop  has  got  me  a 
ouija  board  and  you  are  going  to  help  me  run 
it." 

Of  course  they  did  as  she  commanded,  and  the 
mysteries  of  the  "  master-mind  "  impressed  them 
deeply.  They  learned  among  other  things  that 
the  Tigers  would  certainly  win  the  pennant  and 
that  Babe  Randall  would  finish  the  season  in 
the  .300  class  of  hitters.  To  the  question  of 
whether  Long  Tom  would  win  the  next  opener 
the  ouija  entered  a  negative.  .  Angel-Face  in- 
sisted that  there  must  be  some  mistake,  and  they 
tried  it  again  with  the  same  result. 

A  little  later,  when  they  demanded  to  know 
over  the  girl's  laughing  protest,  the  identity  of 
the  future  "  Mr.  Angel-Face  "  the  board  spelled 
out  "  S-A-F-E." 

"  Good-night,"  sighed  Randall,  "  she's  going  to 
marry  ^  Bull '  Feeney.  He's  been  umpiring  for 
twenty  years  and  all  he  ever  says  is  ^  Safe ! '  I 
nailed  a  guy  by  twenty  feet  the  other  day  and — " 

"  I'm  not  going  to  marry  any  one,"  declared 
Angel-Face,  "  I'm  going  to  play  it  safe,  like  the 
board  says.     Now  run  along  home,  both  of  you 


LEAVE  IT  TO  ANGEL-FACE  63 

— and  if  you  don't  beat  the  Saints  to-morrow, 
I'll  take  both  your  pictures  off  the  wall." 

But  as  the  season  progressed  the  role  of  benev- 
olent neutrality  presented  many  perplexities,  and 
a  fine  vertical  line  made  its  appearance  between 
Norah  Dugan's  eye-brows.  Long  Tom  called 
for  her  on  his  day  off  and  they  went  into  the 
country  and  talked  about  farm  life  in  the  Im- 
perial Valley.  Babe  Randall  appropriated  her 
on  afternoons  when  J.  Pluvius  interfered  with 
the  schedule. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  Pop  Dugan 
mourned,  when  she  confided  her  worry.  "  You 
must  choose  between  them  quickly  or  they  will 
be  at  each  other's  throats,  and  the  club  will  wind 
up  in  the  cellar." 

"  But  I  love  them  both—" 

"  Oh,  aye,"  said  her  father,  "  but  the  play  calls 
for  a  decision  one  way  or  the  other.  A  man  is 
safe  or  he  is  out.  Now  here  you  have  a  tie  base 
and  two  runners,  and  they  are  both  on  the  home 
club.  You  must  call  it  the  way  you  see  it,  dar- 
lin'." 

"  But  I  don't  see — "  she  complained. 

"  Then,"  advised  the  former  umpire,  "  by  the 
power  of  Dinty  Carroll's  right  arm  I  would  give 
the  decision  to  the  side  that  it  helped  the  most!  " 

Late  in  August,  after  the  Tigers  had  returned 


64         HEAKTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

from  a  road  trip  that  put  the  club  ten  points  in 
the  lead,  Henderson  sought  out  Norah  Dugan 
to  tell  her  that  he  had  found  his  farm  in  the  rich 
El  Centro  section  and  had  made  the  first  pay- 
ment.   His  usually  solemn  face  was  radiant. 

"  Oh,  Angel-Face,  it's  class  double  A ;  it's  the 
goods  I'm  tellin'  the  world — forty  acres  with  the 
water  rights — a  little  bungalow  under  the  cot- 
tonwoods  and — "  He  broke  off  abruptly,  his 
eyes  on  the  paper  she  had  been  reading.  It 
was  open  at  the  sporting  page.  There  was  a 
picture  of  Babe  Kandall  crouched  behind  a 
plate,  his  hands  extended,  waiting  for  the  ball. 
A  seven-column  line  read :  "  Major  league  scouts 
are  bidding  for  Coast  League  idol."  A  smaller 
head,  underneath,  ran :  "  Fame  and  fortune 
await  young  star." 

Angel-Face  folded  the  paper  quickly  and 
looked  up  as  a  child  does  who  is  caught  in  some 
act  of  mischief.  Her  soft  eyes  were  trouble- 
east. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you've  found  what  you've  always 
wanted,  Tom,"  she  told  him ;  "  do  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

But  his  enthusiasm  was  gone  and  he  found  dif- 
ficulty in  describing  the  place  that  a  moment  be- 
fore had  fired  his  imagination.  Finally  he 
changed  the  subject. 

"  I  will  write  to-night  to  McGraw..    If  any  one 


LEAVE  IT  TO  ANGEL-FACE  65 

gets  Babe  it  should  be  the  Giants.  New  York 
is  a  wonderful  city,  Angel-Face,  and  the  Kid  is  a 
real  major  leaguer — the  sweetest  young  catcher 
in  the  business.'' 

"  But  I  thought  you  wanted  him  to  take  up 
ranching  with  you?"  Angel-Face  put  the  ques- 
tion with  averted  eyes. 

"  I  did,''  confessed  Long  Tom,  "  but  I  was 
only  thinking  about  myself.  Babe  is  a  major 
leaguer — and — ^you  are,  too !  " 

"What  about  yourself,  Tom?"  she  protested 
softly. 

"Girlie,  I've  had  my  fling  at  the  big  time — 
now  I'm  headed  for  the  bushes — and  it's  natural 
for  a  man  to  think  of  home,  and  a  wife  and  kid- 
dies— but  that  shouldn't  blind  him  to  the  fact 
that  others  can  still  play  ball." 

Norah  Dugan  smiled  through  her  tears. 

"  Tom,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you  talk  like  you  were 
an  old  man,  and  you're  the  leading  pitcher  of  the 
Pacific  Coast.  Why — it's  you  who  may  go  to  the 
majors  instead  of  Babe. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  No,  Angel-Face — the 
ouija  was  right.  If  I  ever  go  to  the  majors  it 
will  be  to  see  Babe  Randall  working  behind  the 
bat  in  a  world's  series.  I'd  crawl  there  on  my 
hands  and  knees  to  see  that." 

Angel-Face  beat  her  hands  softly  together  in 
distress.    "  You  mustn't  lose  heart,  Tom — ^you're 


66         HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

too  big  and  fine  a  man — wait  until  October  when 
everybody's  looking  to  you  to  cinch  the  flag  for 
the  Tigers — then  the  scouts  will  be  seeking  you, 
too/' 

He  smiled  down  at  her  ruefully.  "  I  love  to 
hear  you  talk  like  that,  Angel-Face,  but  I'm  slip- 
ping and  the  Chief  knows  it  just  as  well  as  I  do. 
To-morrow  morning  the  papers  will  have  the 
whole  story." 

"  What  story?  "  she  demanded  in  quick  alarm. 

"  Lawlor  has  traded  me  to  the  Wolves  for  a 
shortstop.    I'm  going  North  to-morrow." 

"No!" 

"  Yes,"  he  assured  her  gravely,  "  the  Chief  is 
right.  He  needs  a  shortstop  worse  than  his  right 
eye  since  Johnson  got  hurt,  and  you  know  I  lost 
my  last  two  starts.  Oh,  I'm  not  out  of  the  league 
— I'll  be  back  here  once  in  a  while,  but  it  will  be 
with  a  third-place  club.    Are  you  sorry,  girlie?  " 

"  I  think  it's  p-perfectly  dread-ful,"  quavered 
Angel-Face,  "  and  I  don't  know  whether  I'd  like 
New  York  nearly  as  well  as — as — " 

"As  what?"  he  asked,  puzzled;  "you  surely 
wouldn't  want  to  see  Babe  go  to  St.  Louis  or 
any  of  the  Western  clubs — they  don't  pay  noth- 
ing like  the  Giants." 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  that,"  she  protested. 
"Oh,  Tom,  you're  such  a  dear  stupid,  some- 
times." 


LEAVE  IT  TO  ANGEL-FAOE  67 

*^  I  know/'  he  admitted ;  "  you  see  the  pitchers 
don't  have  to  take  skull  practise  like  the  infield. 
I  didn't  get  you  at  all." 

"  Don't  you  want  to?  "  she  asked  archly. 

Long  Tom  crimsoned.  "  I'm  leaving  that 
to  you,  Angel-Face,"  he  said ;  "  as  between  the 
majors  where  you  and  Babe  belong,  and  the 
bushes  where  I  am  headed — it  wouldn't  be  fair 
for  me  to  urge  you  one  way  or  the  other.  On  the 
face  of  it,  girlie,  the  situation  calls  for  me  to  ad- 
vance two  runners  on  a  sacrifice  play.  That's 
good  baseball." 

"  I  think  I  prefer  a  home  run." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  it's  up  to  you,  Angel-Face. 
I  want  you  to  be  happy." 

1. 

The  following  Tuesday,  Coast  League  fans 
made  two  important  discoveries  with  the  aid  of 
the  astute  gentry  in  the  press  box.  One  was 
that  "  Brick  "  McGovern,  manager  of  the  Wolves, 
had  started  a  belated  rush  for  the  pennant  that 
promised  to  cut  down  the  Tigers'  lead  to  an  ex- 
tent none  had  thought  possible.  Long  Tom 
Henderson,  in  a  Wolf  uniform,  sat  with  McGov- 
ern on  the  bench,  enjoying  a  thorough  rest  be- 
fore starting  under  his  new  colors. 

"  When  I  send  you  in  there,  Tom,"  McGovern 
confided,  "you're  going  to  be  right,  and  you're 
going  to  win.    Nobody  ever  got  the  best  of  me  on 


es         HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

a  trade.  We'll  beat  the  Tigers  out  of  the  pen- 
nant, if  it's  the  last  act  of  my  life." 

The  big  pitcher  said  nothing.  It  was  a  con- 
tingency that  he  had  never  anticipated — the  pos- 
sibility that  he  might  become  a  party  to  tumbling 
Babe  Randall's  club  out  of  the  lead.  The 
idea  appalled  him,  for  the  pennant  bonus  to  the 
winning  club  meant  $500  per  player,  enough  for 
Babe  and  Angel-Face  to  make  a  start  with. 

"  Spike  "  Pollard,  dean  of  the  sporting  scribes, 
made  the  second  discovery. 

"Boys,"  said  he,  "Randall  has  hit  safely  in 
seventeen  straight  games.  There  are  thirty  more 
games  in  the  schedule.  If  he  hits  safely  every 
day,  that  will  be  forty-seven  consecutive  games 
or  one  more  than  the  world's  record.  Will  that 
make  him  a  drawing  card?    Well,  I  guess  yes!  " 

"  He  won't  hit  to-morrow,"  observed  Darrow, 
of  the  Star^  gloomily.  "  The  Bears  are  going  to 
work  Jennings,  and  the  Kid  never  could  connect 
with  a  left-hander." 

But  the  following  day  Randall  did  hit  safely, 
and  the  next  day,  likewise. 

A  week  later,  the  Associated  Press  began  send- 
ing out  three-line  squibs  that  appeared  at  the 
bottom  of  sporting  pages  all  over  the  country. 
The  baseball  world,  which  loves  nothing  better 
than  to  watch  a  new  record  in  the  making,  sat  up 
and  took  notice.    Thirty-one  games  straight,  thir- 


LEAVE  IT  TO  ANGEL-FACE  69 

ty-two — thirty -three.  And  then  the  Pacific  Coast 
League  was  treated  to  a  second  sensation.  The 
Wolves  clawed  their  way  through  a  double- 
header  and  into  second  place,  took  four  straight 
from  the  Beavers,  and  invaded  the  South  for  the 
last  week  of  the  season  only  seven  points  behind 
the  Tigers,  who  were  their  opponents  in  the  cru- 
cial series. 

Major  league  "  ivory  hunters "  swarmed 
around  the  ball  park  in  the  afternoon,  and  at 
night  gathered  in  the  lobby  of  the  hotel  where 
the  Wolves  were  domiciled.  Kumors  of  trades, 
sales  and  options  followed  one  another  with  such 
rapidity  that  veteran  newspapermen  grew  dizzy. 
Randall  was  the  inspiration  for  most  of  the  ru- 
mors. One  paper  said  he  had  been  bought  by  the 
Braves  for  |15,000  cash.  Another  announced 
that  the  Giants  had  agreed  to  give  the  Tigers 
two  pitchers  and  a  whole  outfield. 

Andy  Lawlor,  grizzled  pilot  of  the  leaders, 
looked  wise  and  made  no  move  to  contradict  the 
rumors.  He  was  shrewd  enough  to  know  that 
every  day  while  the  club  held  its  slender  grip  on 
the  top  of  the  ladder  and  Babe  continued  to 
hit  safely  at  least  once,  the  youngster's  value  as 
a  drawing  card  was  piling  up. 

Meanwhile  the  city  got  out  its  brass  bands,  its 
rooting  clubs,  its  civic  enthusiasm  and  prepared 
to  put  fresh  heart  in  the  tiring  Tigers.     The 


70         HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

South  had  not  enjoyed  a  pennant  in  many  years 
and  its  pride  was  aroused.  But  the  feverish  flush 
that  spread  over  the  city  awakened  no  corre- 
sponding thrill  in  Long  Tom  Henderson.  A 
year  ago,  his  muscles  would  have  quickened  and 
his  nostrils  dilated  as  those  of  an  old  war-horse 
to  whom  the  whiff  of  powder  comes  from  across 
the  field  of  battle. 

Now  for  the  first  time  he  felt  depressed  and 
anxious,  and  his  concern  was  not  for  the  safety 
of  his  own  club,  but  for  that  of  the  Tigers  who 
had  cast  him  off — the  Tigers  who  were  his  oppo- 
nents— in  short,  Babe  KandalFs  team. 

He  wanted  the  Tigers  to  win  because  of  old  as- 
sociations, because  of  Pop  Dugan,  because  of 
Babe  Eandall,  and  because  of  Angel-Face, 
whose  happiness  he  felt  was  linked  with  his 
chum's  success  on  the  diamond.  But  on  the  other 
hand.  Long  Tom  loved  baseball  with  all  the 
artless  sincerity  of  his  quiet  temperament.  Loy- 
alty to  his  friends  and  his  team  was  as  funda- 
mental with  him  as  cleanliness  of  speech,  and  no 
one  had  ever  heard  Long  Tom  swear.  Brick 
McGovern  was  now  his  employer  and  his  friend, 
and  as  boss  of  the  wolves.  Brick  was  out  to 
drag  down  the  Tigers  in  the  very  last  stride 
of  the  race.  The  big  pitcher  sighed  and  kept 
away  from  Angel-Face  and  his  former  battery- 
mate. 


LEAVE  IT  TO  ANGEL-FACE  71 

Pop  Dugan  chanced  upon  him  outside  the 
park  on  the  third  afternoon  of  the  week,  just 
after  the  Wolves  had  hammered  the  offerings  of 
three  Tiger  twirlers  all  over  the  lot  and  were  only- 
two  victories  behind  the  leaders. 

"  Easy  there,  you  ^big  man,"  Pop  upbraided, 
"  for  why  do  you  run  away — have  I  called  a  bad 
play  on  you? '' 

"  It  isn't  that,  Pop,''  Long  Tom  returned. 
"  I  haven't  got  the  heart  to  face  you  all — ^like 
this.  I'd  never  have  stood  for  the  trade,  if  I  had 
thought  I'd  be  one  day  helping  to  beat  the  old 
town  out  of  the  flag.  How  does  Angel-Face  feel 
about  it?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  Pop  Dugan  said  slowly ; 
"I  don't  know.  She's  at  every  game,  but  she 
isn't  saying  much,  which  is  unusual  in  women. 
When  do  you  work?  " 

"  Sunday,"  said  Henderson ;  "  it's  the  last 
day.  Roth  will  go  back  at  them  to-morrow 
and  Sweeney  on  Saturday.  That  leaves  it  up 
to  me.  I'm  dreading  to  have  to  face  the 
Kid." 

"  Oh,  aye,"  nodded  Dugan;  "  he  hit  safe  again 
to-day.  'Tis  his  forty-fourth  game.  What  a 
hand  the  bleachers  gave  him.  Let's  see,  if  you 
work  in  the  last  game  and  the  Kid  catches  for 
us,  which  of  course  he  will  do,  that  means  not 
alone  the  flag  but  the  forty-seventh  hitting  game 


72         HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

for  Babe,  and  a  world's  mark.  Do  you  make 
it  that  way?  " 

"  I  do,"  the  pitcher  agreed,  "  and,"  he  added 
slowly,  "that  is  what  worries  me." 

"  Why  should  you  be  afraid,  you  big  man?  " 

"  Because,"  Henderson  explained  patiently, 
"  Babe  will  not  get  a  hit  off  me.  I  know  his 
weakness." 

The  prayers  of  the  Sons  of  Swat  were  an- 
swered. The  Wolves,  hitting  like  fiends,  took  two 
more  games  and  on  Saturday  evening  were  neck 
and  neck  with  the  bewildered  leaders. 

Sunday  morning  stole  over  the  city  at  the  heels 
of  a  heat  wave — scorching  and  oppressive. 

"  Made  to  order  for  the  old  soup-bone,"  Long 
Tom  assured  himself.  "  This  is  Henderson 
weather  and  Brick  knows  it.  The  only  way  I 
can  get  out  of  working  is  to  break  a  leg  in  the 
first  inning." 

As  he  left  his  hotel  for  a  morning  stroll  a  news- 
boy with  a  bundle  of  early  sporting  extras, 
shrilled  at  him :  "  Official  line-ups  for  the  after- 
noon's game.    Get  your  score  card  on  page  four." 

He  bought  a  paper,  and  almost  the  first  thing 
that  caught  his  eye  was  a  headline :  "  Babe 
Randall  out  with  a  split  finger.  Loses  chance  to 
break  world's  record." 

The  pitcher  remained  rooted  to  the  spot  while 
he  read  the  few  lines  in  boldface  type.    His  first 


LEAVE  IT  TO  ANGEL-FACE  73 

sensation  was  one  of  keen  sympathy  for  the  young 
catcher — swift  realization  of  what  it  meant  to 
Eandall  to  have  a  world  mark  almost  within  his 
grasp  and  to  lose  it  through  no  fault  of  his  own. 
The  next  instant  a  wave  of  relief  swept  over  him 
— fate  had  decreed  that  the  responsibility  for 
shattering  the  youngster's  record  should  not  rest 
with  Long  Tom. 

"  Now,"  muttered  the  pitcher,  "  if  it  would 
cloud  up  and  rain,  the  whole  problem  would  be 
solved."  He  scowled  at  the  flawless  sky  with 
puckered  eyes.  "  No  chance — no  chance  a-tall. 
Brick  always  was  a  fool  for  luck.  If  *  Lefty ' 
Wilson  is  in  form  it  will  be  a  pitcher's  battle,  and 
I'm  feeling  pretty  dog-gone  good." 

By  one  o'clock  the  red  cars  that  passed  Pop 
Dugan's  place  bearing  the  legend  "  Direct  to  the 
Ball  Grounds,"  were  running  four  minutes 
apart,  and  loaded  to  the  guard-rails.  An  auto- 
mobile parade  of  rooters  headed  by  the  brass 
band  and  Mayor  Rufus  T.  Penfield  wound 
through  the  down-town  district. 

As  Pop  remarked :  "  The  town  was  as  crazy 
as  '  Wild  Bill '  Cassidy  before  he  got  religion." 

"  Now,  mind,"  Tim  Riordan  warned,  as  he 
buckled  on  his  umpire's  armor  and  attacked  the 
homeplate  with  a  whiskbroom,  "  Feeney  calls 
all  plays  in  the  field  except  at  the  rubber — that's 
something  I  look  out  for.    And  another  thing — 


74         HEAKTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

nobody  makes  a  goat  out  of  me  to-day  before  a 
mob  like  this.    Do  you  get  that?  " 

"  I  do,"  was  the  grim  reply  of  "  Red "  Car- 
miehael,  catcher  for  the  Tigers,  "  and  listen  to 
me,  Tim,  if  we  lose  again  to-day  because  you 
don't  call  'em  when  they're  over,  you'd  better  tell 
me  what's  your  favorite  flower,  for  you'll  never 
get  out  of  this  park  alive." 

"  Is  that  so?  "  hissed  the  man  in  blue.  "  My 
eyes  are  better  than  yours,  and  there  will  be  no 
funeral  unless  I  have  to  swing  on  you  with  my 
mask.  Listen  to  my  pipes,  will  you — "  He 
lifted  his  face  to  the  packed  grandstand.  ^^  La- 
dies and  Gentlemen,"  he  bellowed,  "  the  batt'ries 
for  to-day's  game — for  the  Wolves — Henderson 
and  Darrow;  for  the  Tigers — Wilson  and  Car- 
michael.     Batter  up !  " 

The  band  crashed  into  a  rollicking  air;  the 
fielders  moved  into  their  places ;  Rube  Ferguson, 
lead-off  man  for  the  Wolves,  took  his  stand  in 
the  batter's  box;  and  "Lefty"  Wilson  glancing 
over  his  shoulder  to  make  sure  that  everything 
was  set,  took  the  full  wind-up  and  a  streak  of 
white  flashed  past  the  batter's  breast. 

"  Strike." 

The  game  was  on ! 

The  luck  of  the  ballfield  can  never  be  foretold. 
Sometimes  it  rests  with  the  pitchers  and  every 
ball  that  is  hit  is  driven  into  the  hip  pocket  of 


LEAVE  IT  TO  ANGEL-FACE  75 

some  fielder  who  couldn^t  get  out  of  the  way  if 
he  tried.  At  other  times,  the  best  twirlers  in 
the  world  will  go  down  under  an  avalanche  of 
hits  that  are  more  accident  than  design;  balls 
that  hop  badly  when  they  near  the  infielders,  or 
Texas  leaguers  that  dent  the  turf  in  the  exact 
spot  no  outfielder  can  reach. 

Fortune  favored  Long  Tom  Henderson  and 
Lefty  Wilson.  Inning  after  inning  rolled  by 
scoreless,  with  both  clubs  putting  up  a  superb 
defense  and  the  two  pitchers  working  slowly  and 
carefully.  The  Tiger  slabster  was  using  speed, 
speed  and  still  more  speed.  Long  Tom  nursed 
his  strength  carefully,  profited  by  his  knowledge 
of  the  kind  of  balls  his  former  team-mates  did 
not  like,  and  mixed  up  an  occasional  spitter  with 
tantalizing  curves  and  a  change  in  pace.  He  was 
matching  his  experience  against  Lefty  Wilson's 
youthful  strength  and  ability. 

Not  until  the  seventh  inning  did  the  break 
come.  Two  errors  behind  Henderson  put  Tiger 
runners  on  first  and  third,  and  the  first  run  of 
the  game  was  registered  on  a  sacrifice  fly  to  the 
outfield.  Long  Tom  retired  the  next  two  men 
on  strikes. 

"  Never  mind,''  consoled  Brick  McGovem, 
"  we'll  get  it  back ;  "  and  the  Wolves  did  get  the 
run  back  with  two  slashing  drives  along  the  right 
field  foul  line  in  quick  succession. 


76         HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

Instantly  the  stubby  figure  of  Andy  Lawlor 
rose  from  the  Tigers'  dugout.  He  waved  a  hand 
peremptorily,  and  Lefty  Wilson  folded  up  his 
glove,  stuffed  it  in  his  hip-pocket  and  trotted 
from  the  field.  Carlisle,  lanky  right-hander  and 
master  of  a  baflBiing  "  hop  "  walked  out  to  replace 
him.  It  was  the  first  move  of  either  manager  to 
replace  any  one,  and  it  showed  that  the  Tiger 
leader  was  taking  no  chances. 

The  switch  from  a  left  hand  delivery  to  a 
pitcher  with  the  opposite  swing  checked  the  Wolf 
attack,  and  the  two  clubs  went  into  the  ninth  in- 
ning with  the  score  tied  and  excitement 
growing. 

Despite  Brick  McGovern's  wild  exhorta- 
tions, the  Wolves  could  only  get  a  man  as  far  as 
second  in  their  half  of  the  ninth,  and  when  they 
took  the  field  the  crowd  was  on  its  feet  yelling 
for  the  Tigers  to  come  to  life. 

"  Can  you  hold  them,  Tom?  '' 

McGovern's  deep-lined  face  was  anxious  as  lie 
walked  out  on  the  diamond  with  the  pitcher,  pat- 
ting him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  I'm  doing  my  best.  Brick,"  responded  Long 
Tom,  and  added  under  his  breath,  "  I  wish  I 
wasn't." 

The  mysterious  quality  known  as  "the  breaks," 
by  wliich  the  wheel  of  baseball  fortune  stops  and 
moves,  again  entered  into  the  situation  and  this 


LEAVE  IT  TO  ANGEL-FACE  77 

time  it  operated  in  favor  of  the  men  who  wore 
the  black  and  yellow  stripes  of  the  Bengal  tribe. 

Patterson,  a  left-hand  hitter,  was  saved  from  a 
strike-out  by  the  catcher's  failure  to  hold  a  foul 
tip  that  marked  a  third  strike.  The  next  instant 
Patterson  slashed  viciously  at  a  "  grooved  "  ball 
and  sent  it  screaming  over  first  base. 

The  ball  curved  sharply  in  the  wind,  struck 
fair  by  inches  only,  and  bounded  off  against  the 
bleachers,  recoiling  sharply  and  away  from  the 
pursuing  fielder.  Before  it  had  been  returned 
to  the  infield,  Patterson  slid  safely  into  third. 
The  bleachers  let  loose  a  tornado  of  noise.  The 
grandstand  rocked. 

Henderson  tightened  his  belt,  methodically  ad- 
justed his  cap  and  studied  the  next  batter.  It 
was  "  Swede "  Jensen,  short-stop.  Long  Tom 
fed  him  two  fast  balls  that  cut  the  inside  corner 
and  drove  him  back  from  the  plate  and  then  put 
three  high  and  on  the  outside.    Jensen  fanned. 

The  Wolf  pitcher  looked  expectantly  at  the 
enemy's  bench.  As  he  anticipated,  Cy  Master- 
son,  the  best  pinch-hitter  in  the  Coast  League, 
was  being  sent  up  in  place  of  Carlisle. 

Masterson  swung  at  the  first  ball  pitched.  It 
came  to  him  waist  high  and  flashed  back — a  line 
drive  over  Long  Tom's  head.  The  big  pitcher 
felt  on  the  instant  that  the  game  was  lost  and 
he  wondered  at  the  absence  of  any  bitterness — 


78         HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

but  the  incipient  roar  of  triumph  from  the  crowd 
was  cut  short  as  Barry,  the  Wolf  shortstop,  leap- 
ing high  in  the  air  stabbed  the  ball  with  his 
gloved  hand.  Patterson  had  barely  time  to 
scramble  back  to  third  to  avoid  the  double  play. 

"  'Atta  boy,  Jim,"  said  Long  Tom ;  "  great 
work,  we'll  get  them  yet.'' 

Again  he  took  up  his  position  mechanically. 
Two  out,  the  ninth  inning,  Patterson  on  third, 
and  the  pennant  hanging  on  the  next  play. 

There  was  a  sudden  commotion  on  the  Tiger 
bench.  Lathrop  was  holding  a  consultation  with 
his  men.  Kilgore,  whose  turn  it  was  to  bat,  stood 
uncertainly  looking  at  the  cluster  of  men  near 
the  bench.  Suddenly  a  decision  was  reached,  the 
conference  melted  and  a  slender  figure  swinging 
a  short  and  chunky  black  bat  came  running  for- 
ward. The  crowd  recognized  the  player  and 
shrieked  approval. 

"  Randall,"  bawled  the  umpire,  "  Randall  bat- 
ting for  Kilgore." 

I  The  thing  which  Long  Tom  Henderson  had 
dreaded  most  had  come  to  pass.  With  everything 
depending  upon  the  result,  Andy  Lawlor  had 
pinned  his  faith  on  his  young  catcher — given  him 
the  chance  to  hit  safely  in  the  forty-seventh 
straight  game — sent  him  up,  sore  finger  and  all, 
to  get  the  hit  that  meant  both  a  pennant  and  the 
world's  record. 


LEAVE  IT  TO  ANGEL-FACE  79 

Henderson's  eyes  searched  the  grandstand  for 
a  familiar  figure  he  had  located  early  in  the  after- 
noon. He  caught  it  again,  a  bright  blue  dress 
and  a  bobbing  summer  hat — ^Angel-Face  was 
watching — probably  praying  for  Babe  to  win 
the  fame  and  glory  all  his  friends  had  predicted 
for  him. 

Long  Tom  stalled  deliberately,  digging  with 
the  cleats  of  one  shoe  at  an  imaginary  rock 
in  the  soft  dirt  of  the  pitcher's  box.  A  scant 
sixty  feet  from  him,  Babe  Randall,  as  loyal 
a  friend  as  he  had  ever  known,  waited  with  his 
feet  braced,  his  lithe  body  coiled  like  a  spring, 
and  the  bat  jerking  nervously  over  and  across 
the  plate.  The  pitcher  stole  a  glance  at  the 
youngster  from  under  his  visor,  and  fancied  that 
the  boy's  face  looked  pale  and  strained.  He 
wondered  whether  Babe  had  volunteered  to 
bat  or  had  been  ordered  up,  and  if  the  latter  case 
whether  the  youngster  felt  as  he  himself  did. 

From  his  position  back  of  the  catcher.  Umpire 
Tim  Eiordan  waved  a  watch  at  Long  Tom 
Henderson. 

"  Two  minutes,"  he  yelled,  "  go  on  and  pitch 
— what  do  you  think  this  is?  " 

The  man  in  the  center  of  the  diamond  did  not 
answer.  He  was  busy  revolving  an  idea  that  had 
suddenly  occurred  to  him.  If  he  knew  Babe 
Randall's  weakness  he  also  knew  his  strength. 


80         HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

A  fast  ball  across  the  shoulders  and  a  little  close 
to  the  body — no  one  need  ever  suspect — and  the 
Kid  would  get  his  record,  his  bonus — and  Angel- 
Face  would  be  happy.  What  girl  could  resist  a 
hero  such  as  "  Babe ''  would  be  with  a  pennant- 
winning  hit ! 

Henderson  turned  his  back  on  the  plate  and 
looked  over  the  outfield.  His  team-mates  were 
all  in  position,  crouched  low  with  their  eyes  ap- 
pealing to  him.  From  every  side,  encouraging 
cries  came  to  him.  "  Pitch  to  him,  Tom,  pitch  to 
him,  old  boy,''  they  called ;  "  we're  back  of  you — • 
don't  mind  the  crowd.    Heads  up,  fellows." 

Over  on  the  bench.  Long  Tom  knew  that 
Brick  McGovern  was  watching — ^warm-hearted, 
generous,  game  old  Brick  McGovern  who  be- 
lieved in  him.  And  at  that  instant  the  Wolf 
twirler  knew  that  he  was  going  to  pitch  better 
than  he  had  ever  done  in  his  life.  All  the 
training  which  the  diamond  had  given  him  in 
the  years  of  his  service;  all  his  love  of  clean  sport 
and  his  natural  instinct  to  win  came  to  his 
rescue. 

Suddenly  Henderson's  long  arm  flashed  back 
and  forward.  It  was  a  surprise  delivery  and  it 
caught  the  batter  napping.  The  ball  crossed  the 
plate  at  Randall's  knees. 

"  Strike,"  yelled  Riordan. 

The  next  two  were  spitters  that  broke  on  the 


LEAVE  IT  TO  ANGEL-FACE  81 

outside.  Kandall  fouled  off  the  fourth  offer- 
ing. 

"  Strike  two.    Two  and  two." 

The  tumult  dwindled  to  an  expectant  hush.^ 

Randall  passed  the  palm  of  his  left  hand  across 
the  bosom  of  his  shirt.  It  was  apparently  noth- 
ing- more  than  a  nervous  movement,  but  the  quick 
eye  of  the  veteran  pitcher  detected  a  significance 
in  the  action.  He  saw  Patterson  crouched,  not 
flat-footed,  but  on  toes  that  were  pointed  toward 
the  plate.  In  a  flash  he  understood  the  play. 
Babe  was  going  to  risk  a  bunt  and  try  to  beat 
the  throw  to  first — the  move  would  be  unexpected 
and  Patterson  would  score  with  the  winning  run. 
Randall  even  with  an  injured  finger  could  man- 
age a  swinging  bunt  to  the  pitcher,  and  that  was 
Long  Tom's  weakness — fielding  a  bunted  ball. 

For  a  brief  moment,  Long  Tom  appeared 
to  hesitate,  but  it  was  only  the  better  to  steady 
himself.  The  youngster  facing  him,  he  knew, 
wanted  above  all  else  a  straight  ball,  waist  high, 
not  too  fast  and  on  the  inside  corner  where  he 
could  deflect  it  slowly  along  the  ground  in  the 
direction  of  third.  That  was  precisely  the  ball 
Long  Tom  resolved  to  throw. 

Henderson's  loose-jointed  form  assumed  its 
familiar  position  in  the  box.  Three  times  he 
shook  his  head  at  the  catcher's  signal.  Finally 
he  nodded,  swung  back  in  a  quick  motion  and 


82         HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

sent  the  ball  low  and  sure  toward  the  batter's 
waist.  Babe  saw  it  coming,  his  bat  dropped 
into  position,  clicked  lightly  and  he  was  off  like 
the  wind.  It  was  a  perfect  bunt  but  the  crowd, 
electrified  into  triumph,  babbled  incoherently  as 
they  noted  what  happened. 

Quick  as  Randall  had  been,  some  one  on  that 
ball  field  had  moved  faster,  and  that  some  one 
was  Long  Tom  Henderson.  His  long  legs  had 
taken  him  into  position  and  he  was  there  waiting 
for  the  sphere  when  it  rolled  toward  him.  He 
got  his  fingers  on  the  ball,  straightened  up,  and 
with  the  roar  of  twenty  thousand  voices  in  his 
ears  saw  the  racing  figure  of  Babe  Randall  a 
scant  twenty  feet  from  first  base.  The  youngster 
had  flashed  toward  the  bag  with  amazing  speed. 

"  You're  out.  Babe,"  the  pitcher  muttered 
hoarsely,  and  put  all  he  had  in  the  throw.  He 
felt  something  tear  in  his  shoulder,  and  stood 
there  with  his  legs  apart,  panting — waiting  for 
the  verdict.  The  ball  thudded  into  the  out- 
stretched glove  of  Daley  at  first,  a  fifth — a  tenth 
— of  a  second  ahead  of  Babe  Randall's  flying 
figure,  but  ahead — of  that  "Long  Tom"  was 
sure.  Then  swift  intuition  came  that  it  was  too 
close — would  Bull  Feeney  have  the  nerve  to 
call  it? 

Henderson  caught  the  look,  swift  as  the  flash 
of  a  bird's  wing,  that  passed  over  the  umpire's 


LEAVE  IT  TO  ANGEL-FACE  83 

face — a  look  of  panic — and  knew  that  he  was 
lost.  Bull's  right  hand  made  an  involuntary 
movement  toward  his  shoulder,  reversed  itself 
and  he  spread  both  hands  out  before  him,  palms 
down. 

"Safe! ''he  cried. 

A  mist  appeared  before  Long  Tom's  eyes. 
The  shouting  of  thousands  of  delirious  men  and 
women  came  to  him  as  the  booming  distant  surf. 
Dully  he  thought  of  Babe  Eandall's  words  on 
the  night  they  had  consulted  the  ouija  board. 
"  She's  going  to  marry  Bull  Feeney — he's  been 
umpiring  twenty  years  and  all  he  knows  is 
'  safe.' " 

He  was  aware  finally  that  he  was  walking  to- 
ward the  clubhouse  through  a  tide  of  fans  who 
had  surged  over  the  field,  and  that  Brick  Mc- 
Govern  was  at  his  side.  The  game  was  over — 
Babe  Randall  had  his  forty-seventh  hit — the 
Tigers  had  the  pennant — Angel-Face  would  be — 

"  Heads  up,  big  fellow,"  said  McGovern,  "  you 
pitched  a  fine  game.    It  wasn't  your  fault." 

"  I  had  him  nailed.  Brick.     He  was  out." 

"  I  know  it,  Tom — Feeney  didn't  have  the 
nerve.  Next  year  we'll  win  so  far  that  all  the 
umps  in  the  country  can't  hold  us." 

"  I'm  through.  Brick." 

"  Can  that  stuff,"  remonstrated  McGovern. 
"  You're  still  the  best  pitcher  in  the  league." 


84         HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

Long  Tom  shook  his  head.  "  I'm  through," 
he  repeated  dully.  "  I  threw  my  arm  out  on  the 
last  play." 

He  undressed  and  spent  ten  minutes  on  the 
rubbing-table.  When  he  was  half  way  into  his 
street  clothes,  the  door  to  the  clubhouse  opened 
and  Babe  Randall  beckoned  to  him.  He  fin- 
ished and  went  out. 

"  Tom,"  said  the  new  holder  of  the  world's 
record  for  consecutive  hitting  games,  "  Bull  is 
as  blind  as  a  bat.    I  was  out." 

"  No,  you  weren't,"  contradicted  the  pitcher, 
"you  were  ^afe.  Babe,  I  wanted  to  see  you 
make  that  hit — and  I'm  sorry  I  come  so  close  to 
nailing  you." 

"  Huh,"  commented  the  catcher,  "  do  you  know 
that  I  went  up  there  intending  to  strike  out? 
Well,  I  did — and  something  says  to  me,  *  play  it 
straight.  Babe,  old  Tom  would  rather  have  it 
that  way.    So  I  did!" 

"  And  you  were  safe,  Babe." 

"  I  was  not — I  leave  it  to  Angel-Face.'' 

"  Angel-Face?  " 

"  Sure^-she's  waiting  with  Pop — down  at  the 
ticket  office.    I  told  her  I'd  get  you." 

The  pitcher  flushed  uneasily.     "Why  me?" 

"Why  not?"  asked  Babe;  "she's  been  ask- 
ing for  you  for  two  weeks,  every  night.  You're 
not  mad  at  her?  " 


LEAVE  IT  TO  ANGEL-FACE  85 

"  Mad?  '^  ejaculated  Long  Tom,  "  mad?  Good 
Lord!'' 

They  found  Norah  and  Pop  Dugan  in  the 
little  room  in  the  rear  of  the  secretary's  offtce. 
As  sooji  as  they  straggled  through  the  door,  An- 
gel-Face brushed  past  her  father  and  went 
straight  up  to  Long  Tom  Henderson,  put- 
ting a  small  white  hand  on  each  of  his  coat 
lapels. 

"  Tom,  he  is  out ;  it  is  you  they  ought  to  be 
cheering." 

"You  see?"  said  Babe  Randall.  "That's 
just  where  I  stand — not '  was  out '  but  *  is  out.'  " 
He  grinned  mischievously. 

"  But,  girlie,"  protested  Long  Tom,  "  even 
if  Bull  was  a  little  careless,  you  mustn't  adver- 
tise the  fact.  The  decision  stands  and  '  Babe '  is 
a  world  beater.  The  Giants  have  bought  him — 
you  can  go  to  New  York — think  what  that 
means." 

Norah  Dugari  stamped  her  foot.  "  I  don't 
want  to  go  to  New  York,  or  Boston,  or  anywhere 
else,"  she  cried,  "  I  want  a  farm — ^with  a  little 
bungalow — among  the  cottonwoods — and  forty 
acres  of — of — rich  soil  and — ^if  some  one  don't 
say  something  real  quick — I'm  going  to  c-cry, 
right  here." 

Babe  Randall  prodded  his  former  team-mate 
with  the  toe  of  his  shoe. 


86         HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

"  You,"  lie  hissed.  "  You — the  squeeze  play — 
don't  you  get  the  signals?  ^' 

Long  Tom  Henderson  contrived  somehow  to 
take  Angel-Face  in  his  arms  and  kiss  her.  He 
was  still  dazed  with  the  wonder  of  it  all. 

"And  you're  not  going  to  the  majors?"  he 
stammered. 

"  Why,  certainly,  dear,"  protested  Angel-Face; 
"we're  both  going  when  Babe  catches  for  the 
next  world's  series.  We'll  go  on  our  hands  and 
knees,  if  necessary." 

"  Oh,  Norah  girlie — and  I  wanted  you  so — I 
need  you."  Long  Tom  Henderson  was  return- 
ing to  consciousness. 

Angel-Face  smiled  wisely.  "  That's  what 
helped  me  decide,  Tom.  The  majors  need  Babe 
— and  you  need  me — so  I  called  the  play  the  best 
I  could." 

"  And  that,  mark  you,"  said  Pop  Dugan,  "  is 
the  best  decision  of  the  afternoon." 


RAINBOW 

WHEN  the  Great  Umpire  orders  a  sus- 
pension of  play  on  account  of  dark- 
ness, and  Gabriel  blows  his  horn,  there 
will  appear  far  down  in  the  Of&cial  Box-score, 
the  name  of  H.  Rinkholm,  and  the  record  will 
read  something  like  this : 

AB       R       H      PO      A      E 
» Rinkholm     1         0         1         0         3         0 

And  then  explaining  the  asterisk,  another  line 
in  agate: 

*  Batted  for  Carroll  in  the  nintli. 

Whereupon  one  of  those  wise  fans  who  are 
always  hanging  around  the  press-box  after  the 
game,  looking  for  arguments,  will  turn  upon  the 
Of&cial  Scorer  and  hand  out  the  old  razz : 

"  What's  the  idea,  givin'  that  bonehead  a  hit 
and  three  assists?  Didn't  he  boot  in  all  over  the 
park?    How  d'ya  get  that  way?  " 

Then  the  Ofiicial  Scorer  can  either  call  a  cop 
or  explain  that  there  is  no  provision  in  the  box- 
score  for  errors  of  judgment,  and  that  old  Doc' 
Rainbow — that's  Rinkholm — made  a  reasonable 
effort  to  handle  what  were  difficult  chanties. 

87 


88         HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

"  You'd  applaud  him  if  he'd  made  the  play, 
wouldn't  you?  "  the  O.  S.  will  ask. 

^^Sure!" 

"  Well,  then,  why  should  I  give  him  an  error 
because  he  didn't?  " 

Official  scorers  are  all  alike ;  they  give  the  bene- 
fit of  the  doubt  to  the  batter,  on  the  theory  that 
while  one  more  hit  won't  hurt  the  pitcher,  a 
fielder  will  yelp  forever  if  he  is  charged  with  one 
questionable  bobble. 

At  that,  there  is  room  for  argument.  This 
whole  case  should  be  reviewed  by  the  National 
Commission.  Whatever  it  decides  will  be  wrong, 
and  we  can  reasonably  accept  the  contrary  as 
correct. 

Want  to  sit  in  the  grandstand  while  we  play 
it  over?  Wait  until  we  dust  off  the  plate.  Now 
then,  all  set?    Let's  go! 

Long  before  Wild  Bill  Cassidy  got  religion  and 
Ping  Podie  first  came  out  from  Cow  Hollow,  old 
Doc'  Rainbow  attached  himself  to  the  St  Clair 
ball  club.  In  ten  years  he  became  as  permanent 
an  institution  and  as  familiar  a  part  of  the 
landscape  as  the  Roll-your-own  sign  in  center 
field. 

Assistant  groundkeeper,  bat  boy,  court  jester 
—that  was  old  Doc'  Rainbow,  possessor  of  thirty- 
five  uniforms,  all  different,  and  a  place  on  the 
payroll  at  twelve  dollars  a  week.    He  got  twenty- 


EAINBOW  89 

five  cents  for  every  ball  he  recovered  from  over 
the  fence,  but  because  of  the  activities  of  the 
junior  generation  of  Barton  Alley,  this  additional 
source  of  revenue  was  uncertain. 

Doc'  was  constructed  on  the  general  prin- 
ciples of  a  cuckoo  clock,  long  and  narrow  and 
rickety.  The  resemblance  even  extended  to  his 
brain.  Not  that  he  was  actually  "  cuckoo ''  in 
the  unpleasant  sense  of  the  word,  but  as  "  Brick  " 
McGovern  put  it,  old  Doc'  Kainbow  thought  in 
much  the  same  way  that  "  Lefty  "  Taylor  pitched, 
which  is  to  say  that  his  control  was  not  of  the 
best. 

On  special  occasions.  Doc'  scrambled  his  ward- 
robe and  appeared  in  a  medley  of  uniforms  which 
produced  the  desired  effect  of  perpetual  novelty. 
Not  Joseph  in  his  futurist  coat,  nor  Solomon  in 
all  his  glory  had  anything  on  the  ancient  jester 
of  the  &t.  Clair  club  when  he  chose  to  array  him- 
self from  the  fulness  of  his  wealth.  Nor  was 
any  man  more  content  with  his  lot  than  old  Doc' 
Kainbow  when  some  pitcher,  warming  up  before 
the  game,  summoned  him  to  the  plate  and  tossed 
over  a  few  balls  while  the  catcher  was  buckling 
on  his  armor.  That  gave  old  Doc'  a  chance  to 
pull  his  comedy  stuff — to  pretend  that  the  ball 
had  hurt  a  finger,  to  blow  on  the  injured  mem- 
ber, to  wring  one  hand  in  anguish,  and  then  pick 
up  the  ball  and  rainbow  it  down  to  second,  re- 


90         HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

treating  off-stage  with  a  limp  and  registering  of- 
fended dignity. 

There  were  always  enough  strangers  in  the 
stands  for  the  stunt  to  produce  a  laugh,  and  this 
daily  chuckle  was  food  and  drink  and  the  breath 
of  life  to  old  Doc'  Rainbow. 

Never  once  did  it  occur  to  him  that  any  one 
would  ever  take  his  job  away.  He  had  seen  ball- 
players come  and  go^  bushers  rise  to  stellar 
heights,  bright  stars  pale  to  Class  B  mediocrity, 
and  the  firmament  assume  unfamiliar  aspects; 
but  Doc's  job  was  his  own;  he  had  created  it;  it 
was  his  by  right  of  discovery,  exploitation  and 
possession.  Therefore,  when  the  blow  did  come, 
on  the  very  day  that  he  wanted  most  to  be  in  the 
line-up,  the  day  of  the  big  benefit  for  the  Chil- 
dren's Hospital,  it  caught  old  Doc'  Rainbow 
utterly  unprepared. 

It  was  no  less  a  personage  than  Templeton 
Carroll,  star  comedian  of  the  "  Isle  of  Boola " 
Company,  who  showed  the  jester  of  the  St.  Clair 
ball-club  that  there  is  no  man  in  this  world  who 
cannot  be  replaced.  While;  the  players  were 
warming  up  before  the  game,  and  chorus-girls 
were  selling  pencils  in  the  grandstand,  Carroll 
appeared  on  the  ball-field  made  up  as  old  Doc' 
Rainbow.  His  form  was  garbed  in  a  fashion  that 
not  even  the  man  he  was  impersonating  had  ever 
been  able  to  attain^,    Wads  of  paper  carried  out 


RAINBOW  91 

the  effect  of  ludicrous  muscles  in  the  calves  of 
his  legs,  and  in  the  arms  of  his  pink  jersey;  a 
radiant  nose  achieved  the  final  touch. 

It  is  not  often  that  an  actor  gets  the  chance  to 
play  to  an  audience  of  twenty  thousand  people. 
Carroll  was  at  his  best.  All  the  stunts  which  old 
Doc'  Rainbow  had  conceived  in  years  of  ponder- 
ing, the  actor  duplicated  and  added  a  few  more 
on  his  own  account. 

The  climax  came,  when  he  circled  the  bases 
against  Time  with  the  two  umpires  holding  their 
watches  on  him,  and  the  crowd  yelping  in  glee 
as  the  long  arms  and  legs  jerked  up  and  down 
like  a  bent  piston. 

In  the  great  throng  that  filled  the  park,  there 
were  only  two  men  who  did  not  relish  the  per- 
formance. One  was  old  Doc'  himself,  self -shorn 
of  his  finery,  and  sitting  unnoticed  in  street 
clothes  far  up  in  the  grandstand;  the  other  was 
Brick  McGovern,  manager  of  the  St.  Clair  club, 
frowning  in  the  dug-out. 

The  veteran  leader  of  the  Wolves  was  an  Irish- 
man, warm  of  heart,  quick-tempered,  and  firm  in 
the  defense  of  his  men.  He  shook  his  head  at 
the  antics  of  Carroll,  and  turned  uncomfortably 
to  "Pee-wee"  Patterson.  "He's  laying  it  on  too 
strong,"  he  complained.  "I  wish  I'd  sent  Doc' 
out  of  town  for  the  day ;  it'll  just  about  break  the 
old  boy's  heart." 


92         HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

Pee-wee  looked  about  him.  "Rainbow's  gone/' 
he  observed. 

"I  know  it,"  said  McGovern.  "That's  what  I 
don't  like.  Somebody  ought  to  follow  him.  The 
poor  nut  is  liable  to  go  home,  and — *  Blooey- 
Blooey  ! '  "  He  illustrated  the  suggestion  by  cock- 
ing a  forefinger  to  his  temple  and  crooking  the 
thumb  significantly. 

The  third  baseman  demurred.  "He  ain't 
crazy  enough  for  that.  Come  on,  Brick;  there's 
the  bell !" 

McGovern  hesitated,  uncertain  whether  to  fol- 
low his  hunch  or  not.  The  umpire  calling  for 
the  batting  order  decided  the  matter.  A  mana- 
ger cannot  attend  to  everything. 

Carroll  remained  as  the  bat  boy,  and  after  the 
first  inning  old  Doc'  Rainbow  went  home — that 
is,  he  went  to  the  little  front  room  that  faced  on 
Barton  Alley.  There  he  garbed  himself  in  a 
vain  attempt  to  out-shine  the  man  who  had  taken 
his  place.  From  the  bottom  of  an  ancient  trunk 
he  resurrected  a  44-caliber  revolver,  fully 
loaded.  This  done,  he  walked  over  to  the  win- 
dow for  a  final  look  at  an  ungrateful  world. 
Doc'  should  have  accomplished  the  business  at 
hand  and  let  it  go  at  that.  For  opposite  his 
window  wag  a  billboard,  and  on  it  the  face  of 
Templeton  Carroll,  with  the  lips  parted  in  a 
characteristic  grin,  and  the  eyes  looking  straight 


EAINBOW  93 

at  the  St.  Clair  Jester.  Undoubtedly  the  litho- 
graphed portrait  had  been  there  for  some  time, 
but  Doc'  had  never  noticed  it  before.  Now  it 
assumed  Machiavellian  significance,  a  jeering 
witness  to  the  Rainbow's  exit. 

Doc'  lowered  the  revolver.  Even  to  his  disor- 
dered mind,  the  suggestion  was  plain.  The  log- 
ical target  for  a  bullet  was  not  himself — but  the 
man  whose  picture  was  now  laughing  at  him. 
The  Jester  removed  his  uniform,  got  back  into 
his  street  clothes,  pocketed  the  revolver,  and 
went  out.  He  spent  the  afternoon  in  the  mo- 
tion picture  houses  along  Mission  street,  where 
one  film  drama  impressed  him  deeply.  A  wo- 
man who  had  been  wronged  lay  in  wait  for  her 
persecutor  in  his  own  office,  and  fired  as  the  man 
opened  the  door.  Doc'  sat  through  two  runs  of 
the  film. 

Later,  he  ate  a  meager  supper  in  a  cheap  res- 
taurant, and  when  night  came,  showed  up  at  the 
stage  entrance  of  the  Central  Theater,  while  the 
first  act  was  still  on. 

"  Peg "  O'Connor,  the  grizzled  doorkeeper, 
recognized  him. 

"  Hello,  Doc',"  he  called,  "  how  are  they  com- 
in'?" 

"  Pretty  good,  Mr.  O'Connor,  how  are  they 
comin'  with  you?  "  From  a  vest  pocket  he  pro- 
duced a  slip  of  pink  paper,  bearing  the  signa- 


94         HEAKTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

ture  of  the  president  of  the  ball  club,  and  held 
it  out.  "  Thought  maybe  you  might  like  to  take 
in  the  Sunday  game/'  he  said. 

The  doorkeeper  pocketed  the  pass  gracefully. 
"  Much  obliged,''  he  acknowledged.  "  Sorry  I 
can't  return  the  compliment,  but  the  house  is 
full.    Some  other  night — " 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  interposed  old  Doc' 
Rainbow.  "  Only  I  wonder,  Mr.  O'Connor,  if 
I  could  stand  just  inside  the  stage-door  a  min- 
ute? I've  always  wanted  to  see  what  it  looked 
like." 

The  doorkeeper  hesitated.  He  felt  himself  un- 
der obligations  by  virtue  of  the  pink  slip  of 
paper.  "  The  rules  are  pretty  strict,"  he  de- 
bated, "  but  I  guess  it  won't  hurt  none,  just  for 
once.  This  is  get-away  night;  the  company's 
jumping  to  San  Jos^.  Go  on  in  a  minute,  but 
keep  back  by  the  wall.  If  anybody  says 
anything,  tell  'em  you're  one  of  the  express- 
men." 

Give  Peg  O'Connor  an  error  or  an  assist  on 
this  play  just  as  it  appeals  to  you.  Old  Doc' 
Rainbow  passed  through  the  door,  up  three 
steps,  and  along  a  passageway  that  led  to  an  un- 
familiar land.  He  stumbled  over  coiled  rop'BS, 
bumped  against  odd  pieces  of  scenery  slanting 
against  the  brick  fire-wall,  but  managed  to  keep 
out  of  the  way  of  the  stage-hands.     A  girl  in 


EAINBOW  95 

spangled  chiffon  came  tripping  down  a  spiral 
stairway. 

"  'Sense  me/'  said  the  Jester,  "  but  can  yoU' 
tell  me  where  is  Mr.  Carroll's  dressing-room?  " 

The  girl  pointed  a  white  finger,  and  hurried 
on  toward  the  wings.  Down  the  stairway  flowed 
a  stream  of  more  girls.  The  orchestra  quickened, 
and  a  distant  patter  of  applause  and  laughter 
drifted  back  stage.  Turning,  he  saw  a  row  of 
dressing  rooms  at  the  right,  and  tacked  on  the 
door  of  one  of  them  a  cardboard  sign :  "  Mr. 
Carroll." 

The  door  opened  to  his  light  pressure;  the 
room  was  empty.  Unseen  he  slipped  in  and 
closed  the  door.  The  single  window  of  the  small 
room  opened  on  a  fire-escape  that  led  to  the 
ground  not  six  feet  below.  Against  the  wall  on 
one  side  was  a  dressing-table  flanked  by  trunks 
and  chairs.  The  opposite  wall  was  hung  with 
costumes  and  afforded  the  best  view  of  the  door. 
The  Rainbow  edged  in  among  the  garments,  a 
drab  blur  amid  the  chaos  of  gaudy  satins  worn 
by  "  King  Co-co  of  the  Boola  Islands."  Fum- 
bling the  revolver.  Doc'  Eainbow  waited. 

Mark  how  Fate  can  gyp  a  Jester!  This  was 
Templeton  Carroll's  farewell  performance  in  his 
home  town.  His  friends  had  arranged  a  demon- 
stration in  his  behalf  to  follow  the  first  act,  and 
in   accordance   with   the   plan,   the   actor  had 


96         HEAKTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

agreed  to  come  before  the  curtain  and  recite 
"  Casey  at  the  Bat/'  garbed  as  old  Doc'  Kain- 
bow.  This  necessitated  a  quick  change  in  the 
wings,  and  so  Carroll  did  not  go  to  his  dressing 
room.  But  some  one  else  did.  Some  one  who, 
like  the  Jester,  expected  to  meet  Templeton  Car- 
roll there. 

The  handle  to  the  door  turned.  Old  Doc' 
Eainbow  raised  his  arm.  Slowly  the  door 
opened.  The  Jester  aimed  shakily  at  the  spot 
where  the  actor's  head  should  have  appeared, 
but  instead  of  the  tall  comedian  there  came  into 
the  room,  the  most  exquisite  morsel  of  humanity 
old  Doc'  Kainbow  had  ever  seen; — a  little  girl 
who  brushed  yellow  curls  out  of  violet  eyes,  held 
out  her  arms,  and  exclaimed  "  Daddy !  " 

For  the  second  time  that  day,  the  clown  of 
the  St  Clair  ball  club  lowered  his  revolver  with 
the  trigger  unpressed. 

The  child  closed  the  door  behind  her  and  ad- 
vanced on  the  Rainbow  confidently. 

"  I'm  Winnie — Daddy,"  she  confided,  "  and 
Mama  says  I  am  to  give  you  this  note  and  you 
must  not  be  angry  any  more.'' 

Mechanically  he  took  the  note  and  opened  it. 
Once,  a  long  time  ago — but  that  has  no  bear- 
ing on  this  story  except  in  extenuation  of  what 
followed.  A  man  does  not  plumb  the  depths  of 
murder,  and  attain  the  responsibilities  of  par- 


RAINBOW  97 

enthood,  and  delve  into  the  treasure-chest  of 
memory,  all  in  one  breath,  without  being  a  trifle 
dazed.  A  brighter  man  than  old  Doc'  Rainbow 
would  have  done  just  what  the  Jester  did,  which 
was  to  sit  down  upon  a  chair,  take  the  child  on 
his  knee,  and  gaze  rather  stupidly  at  the  note. 

It  was  some  minutes  before  the  letters  ceased 
to  dance  and  resolved  themselves  into  a  femi- 
nine chirography  on  the  stationery  of  the  Palace 
Hotel. 

Dear  Tempy:  I  am  in  the  house  to-night  dear,  as 
in  the  old  days.  Won't  you  let  Winnie  heal  the 
breach  between  us?    And  she  needs  her  father. 

If  yes  is  the  answer,  flash  the  old  signal.  I  will 
be  watching. 

Your  repentant  Wife. 

Old  Doc'  Rainbow  blinked  down  at  the  child 
in  his  lap.  He  was  never  very  good  at  "  inside 
baseball ; ''  the  note  went  far  over  his  addled 
head.  But  he  liked  children,  and  they  were  re- 
sponsive to  him.  Not  a  youngster  in  Barton 
Alley  who  didn't  exercise  a  proprietary  interest 
in  Rainbow. 

Moreover,  this  was  no  ordinary  child  who  now 
sat  on  the  Jester's  knee.  There  was  none  of  the 
timidity  that  might  be  expected  from  a  little 
girl  encountering  her  father  for  the  first  time  in 
her  recollection.     Winnie  had   the  composure 


98         HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

and  assurance  of  every  child  of  the  stage;  be- 
sides, she  was  playing  a  role  in  which  she  had 
been  patiently  coached. 

In  two  minutes,  old  Doc'  Rainbow  was  a  hyp- 
notized tabby  cat  purring  to  the  caresses  of  a 
four-year-old  Circe. 

Dimly  the  Rainbow  comprehended  that  for 
some  unknown  reason  the  Great  Manager  had 
sent  him  in  to  bat  for  the  man  who  had  taken  his 
job,  and  reckless  of  the  consequences,  conscious 
only  of  an  opportunity  too  wonderful  to  be  put 
aside,  old  Doc'  Rainbow  ambled  up  to  the  plate. 

"  My,  my,  my!  "  he  ejaculated,  "  and  so  you're 
my  little  girl !  " 

Winnie  nodded,  "  And  I  am  very  sleepy,"  she 
confessed.  "  Are  you  going  to  take  me  home,  or 
is  Mama  going  to  take  me  home?  " 

Winnie  extemporized  this.  It  was  no  part  of 
her  practised  lines,  but  the  Jester  recognized  it 
as  a  cue  which  called  for  some  decision  on  his 
part.  While  he  was  debating  the  matter,  the 
second  act  ended,  the  applause  percolated  back 
stage,  and  there  was  a  rush  of  pattering  feet 
past  the  door. 

A  quick,  unreasoning  panic  seized  old  Doc' 
Rainbow.  What  explanation  could  he  offer 
when  they  found  him  in  Templeton  Carroll's 
dressing  room?  What  if  they  searched  him,  and 
found  the  revolver,  and  guessed  the  truth? 


EAINBOW  99 

Once  again  th^  Kainbow  booted  the  ball. 
He  set  the  child  down  hurriedly  and  made 
his  way  to  the  window  that  opened  on  the 
fire-escape. 

"  You  be  a  good  girl,  Winnie,"  he  admonished. 
"  Old  Doc's  got  to  go  away ;  you'd  better  stay 
there.  You're  a  fine  little  girl,  and  Daddy  loves 
you.  You  remember  that!  Maybe  some- 
time—" 

Winnie's  face  puckered.  She  looked  back  at 
the  closed  door,  and  then  at  the  man  climbing 
out  of  the  window.  Her  hand  reached  up  ap- 
pealingly. 

"  Daddy,  I  want  to  go  with  you.  I  want  to  go 
home  with  you !  " 

Alas,  for  old  Doc'  Kainbow's  fielding  record! 
That  word  "  Daddy "  did  it.  He  swung  one 
1^  back  across  the  window-sill  and  opened 
his  arms.  Winnie  waited  for  no  second  invita- 
tion. 

When  Templeton  Carroll  entered  the  room  he 
crossed  over  to  his  dressing  table,  took  off  his 
wig  and  sat  down  to  light  a  cigarette. 

Just  as  the  Eainbow  reached  the  last  step,  he 
leaned  for  support  against  the  brick  wall  at  a 
spot  immediately  below  the  huge  stage  switch- 
board. He  recoiled  sharply.  Had  he  been  able 
to  think  of  more  than  one  thing  at  a  time,  he 
might  have  asked  himself  why  the  wall  should 


100       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

have  been  so  hot  to  the  touch.  But  Winnie's 
arms  were  curved  about  his  neck,  and  an  an- 
cient memory  clutched  his  heart. 

A  vigilant  taxi-driver  spied  him  as  he  gained 
the  sidewalk.  The  nocturnal  prowler  turned 
into  the  curb,  one  finger  in  the  air.  Taxicabs 
were  a  novelty  in  old  Doc'  Rainbow's  life,  but 
he  set  the  child  down  and  fumbled  in  his  pocket. 
His  fingers  assured  him  that  sufficient  remained 
from  his  week's  pay  to  make  the  adventure 
possible. 

"  Going  riding  in  an  automobile,"  he  chuckled, 
"  Winnie  and  Daddy — ain't  that  swell?  " 

Winnie  assured  him  that  she  liked  "  orter- 
beels." 

"  Where  to  ?"  the  driver  asked. 

The  Rainbow  hesitated.  Taxicabs  did  not 
often  penetrate  the  narrow  limits  of  Barton 
Alley,  but  at  the  corner  of  Sixteenth  and  Valen- 
cia, only  half  a  block  from  his  home,  there  was  a 
six-story  structure  with  a  showy  front.  He 
bridged  the  distance  mentally. 

"  Hotel  St.  Paul,"  he  directed.  "  It's  out  by 
the  ball-park." 

The  driver  let  in  the  clutch;  the  machine 
jerked  forward;  and  Winnie,  snuggling  within 
the  curve  of  the  Rainbow's  arm,  went  content- 
edly to  sleep. 

The  cab  was  half  a  block  distant  from  its  ob- 


RAINBOW  ,  /\;    il^l, 

jective  when  old  Doc'  Rainbow  lost  his  nerve 
and  rapped  vigorously  on  the  window. 

"  I  want  to  get  out  here,"  he  announced. 

The  driver  had  his  own  ideas  on  the  subject. 
"  You  said  the  St.  Paul,  and  it's  half  a  block  up ; 
keep  inside." 

"I  want  to  get  out  here,"  persisted  the  Rain- 
bow. 

The  chauffeur  shrugged,  drew  up  to  the  curb, 
and  boosted  the  regular  rate  one  dollar.  The 
Jester  paid  the  charge  without  protest,  and 
walked  away,  Winnie's  hand  in  his,  and  quite 
aware  that  the  driver  was  watching  him. 

In  the  glare  of  the  hotel  entrance  he  paused 
and  looked  back.  The  taxi  was  veering  around 
the  corner.  The  Rainbow  bent  down,  took  the 
sleepy  child  in  his  arms,  and  turned  the  corner 
into  Barton  Alley. 

"  Pretty  near  home,  Winnie,"  he  comforted. 
"  Daddy's  going  to  fix  you  up  some  bread  and 
milk ;  and  then  you  can  go  to  sleep." 

"  And  then  we'll  have  Mama  come,"  Win* 
nie  answered  drowsily. 

Old  Doc'  Rainbow  frowned  as  he  made  his 
way  up  the  dark  stairway.  This  was  an  angle 
that  had  not  occurred  to  him.  He  did  not  reply 
until  they  had  gained  the  little  front  room  and 
he  had  lighted  the  gas.  Then  he  took  up  the 
matter,  but  cautiously. 


X02     ,fl3i:iVJaTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

"  You  love  Mama?  "  he  asked. 

Winnie  nodded  gravely.  "And  my  Daddy," 
she  amplified. 

The  Jester  busied  himself  with  providing  from 
his  bachelor's  larder  a  repast  for  his  small  guest. 
Winnie  attacked  the  refreshments  energetically. 
When  she  broke  the  long  silence,  it  was  to  re- 
quest a  "  story." 

Old  Doc'  Kainbow  did  his  best;  he  plunged 
into  a  narrative  that  had  neither  head  nor  tail, 
but  revolved  about  a  certain  little  girl  who  went 
out  for  a  walk  and  encountered  at  each  corner 
an  animal  who  made  a  weird  and  wonderful 
noise.  And  after  each  encounter,  the  narrator 
demanded : 

^'^  And  what  was  that?  " 

Winnie  displayed  remarkable  skill  in  inter- 
preting the  noises. 

"  That  was  kitty.  .  .  .  And  that  was  a 
rooster.  .  .  .  And  that  was  a  moo-cow.  .  .  . 
And  that  was  birdie.  .  .  . 

Finally  the  Eainbow  exhausted  his  knowledge 
of  domesticated  animals,  and  the  story  weak- 
ened. 

"  I  guess  you  better  undress  me  and  put  me 
to  bed,"  hazarded  Winnie. 

The  Jester  regarded  her  with  dismay.  "  Don't 
you  know  how  to  undress  yourself?  " 

"  I  guess  you  better,"  she  repeated. 


EAINBOW  103 

And  then  it  began  to  dawn  on  old  Doc'  Eain- 
bow  that  a  substitute  is  only  a  substitute,  and 
that  he  could  no  more  qualify  for  the  job  of  par- 
ent to  Winnie  Carroll  than  he  could  hope  ever 
to  become  a  regular  member  of  Brick  McGov- 
ern's  ball  club.  In  this  brief  moment  of  clarified 
vision,  many  things  returned  to  hurt  him.  Once 
it  might  have  been  possible,  but  now — 

Gently  the  Jester  folded  the  child  in  his  arms, 
removed  shoes  and  stockings  and  slipped  off  the 
outer  dress. 

"  Daddy  hasn't  got  any  night-clothes  for  you,'' 
he  explained.  "  I  guess  you'll  have  to  sleep  like 
that  and  pretend  that  it's  all  right." 

Winnie  was  too  sleepy  to  offer  any  serious  ob- 
jections. 

"  And  are  you  going  to  go  to  bed,  too?  "  she 
inquired. 

The  Jester  nodded.  "  This  is  going  to  be  your 
room,  and  I'm  going  to  sleep  in  my  room  right 
alongside." 

He  tucked  the  child  under  the  covers  and  bent 
to  kiss  her.  "  You  go  right  to  sleep,"  he  ad- 
jured. 

The  Jester  extinguished  the  light  and  tiptoed 
from  the  room,  carrying  an  extra  pillow  and  an 
overcoat.  Out  in  the  corridor  there  came  to  him 
the  wail  of  sirens,  and  he  walked  to  the  window. 


104       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

A  crimson  glare,  as  from  a  blast  furnace,  roofed 
the  downtown  district.  Dropping  the  pillow  to 
the  floor,  he  stretched  himself  on  the  carpet  and 
drew  the  overcoat  about  him. 

Toward  morning,  he  fell  asleep  and  dreamed, 
first  that  he  was  pitching  in  a  World's  Series, 
with  Winnie  watching  him,  and  later  that  they 
were  being  pursued  by  the  whole  United  States 
Army.  Aching  in  every  limb,  he  awoke  at  day- 
light and  made  his  way  to  the  street  in  search 
of  a  morning  paper,  fully  convinced  that  the 
headlines  would  shriek  his  name. 

What  he  saw  on  the  first  page  shocked  him  into 
such  complete  paralysis  that  he  collapsed  against 
a  telegraph  pole  and  remained  there  for  ten  min- 
utes, staring  at  the  printed  lines. 

The  Central  Theater  had  burned.  Templeton 
Carroll,  standing  before  the  lowered  asbestos 
curtain  that  cut  off  the  flames,  had  quelled  the 
panic,  and  enabled  the  ushers  to  empty  the  house 
quickly.  Not  until  then  had  he  learned  that  his 
four-year-old  daughter  had  been  secreted  in  his 
dressing  room,  adjoining  the  switch-board  where 
the  fire  had  started.  The  child  had  undoubtedly 
perished.  Mrs.  Carroll  was  prostrated  in  her 
rooms  at  the  Palace  Hotel,  and  her  husband  was 
with  her. 

The  story  of  the  fire,  the  escape  of  the  au- 
dience, the  heroism  of  the  entire  company,  and 


KAINBOW  105 

Mrs.  Carroll's  dramatic  attempt  at  a  reconcilia- 
tion with  her  husband,  leading  to  Winnie  Car- 
roll's death,  covered  two  pages  of  the  paper  old 
Doc'  Rainbow  held  in  his  shaking  hands. 

Gradually  his  dazed  senses  focused  on  two  con- 
clusions :  first,  that  the  child  would  never  be  dis- 
covered, now,  if  he  chose  to  keep  her  as  his  own ; 
second,  that  he  must  take  her  back  to  her  father 
and  mother,  who  were  together  again. 

He  reentered  the  house,  ascended  the  stairs, 
and  opened  the  door  softly.  Winnie  was  sitting 
on  the  floor,  endeavoring  to  put  on  her  shoes. 
She  brushed  the  curls  out  of  her  eyes,  and  smiled 
at  him. 

The  Rainbow  gave  clumsy  assistance  to  the 
shoe  problem,  and  when  this  was  solved,  they 
went  hand  in  hand  to  a  restaurant  around  the 
corner.  During  every  minute  of  the  break- 
fast the  Rainbow  expected  that  a  policeman 
would  walk  in  the  door  and  drop  a  heavy 
hand  upon  his  shoulder.  But  they  were  not  in- 
terrupted. 

Again  on  the  sidewalk,  Winnie  looked  up  at 
him.  "  I  guess  we'd  better  go  back  to  Mama, 
now,"  she  suggested. 

"  I  guess  you're  right,"  the  Rainbow  answered. 

They  boarded  a  downtown  car,  and  fifteen  min- 
utes later  were  walking  through  the  long  cor- 
ridor of  the  crowded  Palace  toward  the  desk. 


106       HEAKTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

Just  in  time  old  Doc'  Rainbow  thought  of  some- 
thing and  drew  his  companion  aside. 

"  I  almost  forgot  to  tell  you,"  he  hurried, 
"  you've  really  got  two  daddies ;  you're  a  mighty 
lucky  young  lady.  You  see,  I'm  your  play  daddy, 
and  I  was  just  batting  in  your  other  daddy's 
place.  You  mustn't  be  surprised  when  you  see 
him ;  you  must  treat  him  like  you  did  me.  Here's 
that  note." 

Winnie  was  bewildered.  She  clung  a  little 
closer  to  the  Jester.  "  I  want  my  Mama,"  she 
declared. 

^'  Sure  you  do,"  agreed  the  Rainbow.  "  That's 
just  who  we're  going  to  find." 

The  dignified  clerk  who  spun  the  big  register 
and  extended  a  pen  got  the  shock  of  his  life  when 
the  man  facing  him  explained : 

"  This  is  little  Miss  Carroll,  and  it's  all  a  mis- 
take about  her  being  dead.  She  wants  her 
mother." 

"What?  "cried  the  clerk.  "What?  Say  that 
again ! " 

.     Old  Doc'  Rainbow  repeated  it  patiently. 
I     The  man  behind  the  mahogany  counter  blinked 
at  the  Jester,  then  at  the  child  by  his  side,  and 
back  at  the  Jester. 

"  Good  God ! "  he  exclaimed,  and  darted  into 
the  office  of  the  assistant  manager.. 

Shift  the  spotlight!    Lower  the  curtain  on  a 


RAINBOW  107 

woman  running  down  a  hotel  corridor — a  man 
striding  behind,  with  the  joys  of  heaven  and  the 
doubts  of  the  damned  fighting  for  control  of  his 
features,  and  old  Doc'  Rainbow  standing  there 
forgotten,  twirling  a  battered  hat  in  his  wrinkled 
hands.  Into  the  bedlam  trickled  the  house-de- 
tectives and  bell-boys  and  members  of  the  "  Isle 
of  Boola"  company.  Such  scenes  are  enacted 
only  in  real  life;  they  form  no  part  of  the  enter- 
tainment provided  by  the  stage  or  the  ball- 
field. 

Twenty  minutes  afterward  Templeton  Carroll 
was  still  clinging  to  the  arm  of  the  Jester,  and 
repeating  over  and  over: 

"  Can't  we  get  a  drink  in  this  whole  darn  town 
— can't  we  get  just  one  drink?  " 

Down  in  the  historic  Palace  buffet,  under  the 
original  painting  of  the  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin, 
with  all  the  little  children  tumbling  along  in 
the  wake  of  a  figure  that  might  almost  have  been 
the  Rainbow  himself,  they  came  across  Otto, 
whose  business  it  was  to  sit  up  nights  with  the 
Eighteenth  Amendment.  Otto  went  to  work  on 
a  concoction  which  was  mostly  stomach  bitters, 
but  which  burned  all  the  way  down,  and  so  was 
welcome. 

Thus  fortified,  the  actor  dragged  his  com- 
panion into  a  cushioned  booth  and  sat  him  down. 

"What  I  can't  get  through  my  head  is,"  he 


108       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 


complained,    "  why    should    you    want    to    kill 
me?" 

"  You  took  my  job  away,"  explained  the  Jes- 
ter ;  "  you  showed  me  up.  Nobody  will  want  to 
laugh  at  me  any  more.  I'm  through.  I'll  never 
put  on  a  uniform  again." 

And  then  Templeton  Carroll  understood,  and 
saw  clearly  wherein  his  duty  lay.  He  recognized 
the  type  at  once,  for  the  theater  also  has  its  old 
Doc'  Rainbows — many  of  them.  In  addition  to 
being  a  great  actor,  Carroll,  when  he  chose,  could 
be  a  golden  liar.  He  summoned  all  his  skill  in 
both  accomplishments  and  fell  to  work. 

"  Doc',"  he  said,  leaning  across  the  table. 
"You've  got  it  all  wrong — all  wrong!  Let  me 
tell  you  something.  You  know,  Cornelius  Mc- 
Gillicuddy — Connie  Mack?  " 

"  Sure.    He's  the  manager  of  the  Ath-e-letics." 

"  That's  him !  He's  a  personal  friend.  Well, 
when  the  company  was  playing  in  Philadelphia 
last  fall,  Connie  Mack  sent  for  me  and  said: 
'  Carroll,  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favor.  When 
you  get  out  to  the  Coast,  I  want  you  to  go  to  the 
St.  Clair  ball-park,  and  watch  this  fellow  they 
call  the  Rainbow.  He's  got  the  best  line  of  com- 
edy there  is  in  baseball,  and  I  want  some  of  my 
coaches  to  use  his  stuff.' 

"  Now,  Doc',  do  you  see  why  I  went  out  there? 
I  just  wanted  to  try  myself  out  so  I  could  repeat 


RAINBOW  109 

the  stuff  to  Connie  Mack — and  I  failed,  Doc\ 
The  whole  company  told  me  I  was  rotten ! " 

"  Oh,  no,''  protested  the  Rainbow,  "  you  was 
good ! " 

Carroll  shook  his  head.  "  Doc',  we're  both  en- 
tertainers, and  the  only  difference  is  that  where 
you  play  to  thousands,  I  only  play  to  hundreds. 
Now,  if  you'll  show  me  how  you  manage  that 
funny  limp,  maybe  I  can  suggest  some  signals  to 
pull  when  you  go  to  the  plate  with  a  glove." 

"  Why,"  said  the  Rainbow,  "  there  ain't  much 
to  the  limp ;  it  goes  like  this." 

Otto  stopped  polishing  his  glasses  to  watch 
them  as  they  maneuvered  on  the  tiled  floor. 
Presently  a  uniformed  boy  traversed  the  room, 
crying :  "  Call  for  Mister  Carroll.  Mister 
Carr-oll!" 

The  actor  hailed  him. 

"Five  reporters  at  the  desk,"  said  the  boy. 
"  They  want  to  see  you  right  away." 

Carroll  turned  to  the  Rainbow.  "  Doc'  maybe 
you'd  better  let  me  handle  this  thing.  You  can 
go  out  the  other  door,  but  remember  I'm  going 
to  take  Mrs.  Carroll  and  Winnie,  and  the  whole 
company  out  to  the  park  this  afternoon;  you 
mustn't  fail  us." 

"  I'll  be  there,"  promised  the  Jester. 

Carroll  met  the  reporters  and  lied  like  a  gen- 
tleman.    He  described  how  old  Doc'  Rainbow 


110       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

had  come  to  the  theater  to  help  him  make  up, 
how  he  had  learned  of  the  presence  of  Winnie 
and  had  dashed  into  the  blazing  room  and  car- 
ried the  little  one  to  safety,  spending  most  of 
the  night  thereafter  in  a  vain  effort  to  locate  her 
parents. 

After  the  interview  the  newspaper  men  held 
a  conference  out  on  the  sidewalk,  and  came  to 
the  sensible  conclusion  that  while  Carroll  was 
undoubtedly  holding  something  back,  there  was 
no  use  in  probing  any  further  and  running  the 
chance  of  spoiling  a  perfectly  good  story. 

So  they  went  back  to  their  respective  editors 
and  turned  in  a  rattling  good  follow-up  on  what 
was  really  a  morning  paper  story;  but  it  being 
a  dull  day  otherwise,  the  afternoon  papers  played 
it  across  the  boards  and  even  deigned  to  call 
upon  the  sporting  editors  for  assistance;  and 
each,  according  to  the  wealth  of  his  imagina- 
tion, bestowed  upon  old  Doc'  Rainbow  antece- 
dents, exploits  and  characteristics,  which  varied 
according  to  the  authors  but  served  the  purpose 
well. 

Enterprising  circulation  managers,  hustled  the 
early  editions  out  to  the  ball-park,  where  they 
were  disposed  of  in  such  quantities  that  when 
old  Doc'  Rainbow  dyspeptically  arrayed  in  a 
yellow  and  green  uniform,  with  purple  socks, 


EAINBOW  111 

emerged  from  the  clubhouse,  the  crowd  arose  to 
a  man  and  gave  him  an  ovation  only  equaled  by 
the  uproar  that  ensued  when  Truck  Darrow  poled 
the  ball  clear  into  Fifteenth  Street  with  the  pil- 
lows packed! 

The  Kainbow  forgot  all  the  stunts  that  Carroll 
had  shown  him,  and  most  of  his  own,  which  was 
just  as  well,  for  it  took  the  combined  services  of 
both  umpires  and  several  players  to  help  him 
pick  up  all  the  money  that  was  showered  upon 
him  from  the  stands. 

So  you  see  it  came  out  all  right  after  all, 
though  it  was  a  very  complicated  play,  and  the 
National  Commission  can  be  forgiven  for  balling 
it  up  if  it  ever  comes  before  that  august  body. 

But  the  Official  Scorer  is  All-Wise.  He  will 
undoubtedly  rule  that  old  Doc'  Eainbow  is  en- 
titled to  three  assists  and  a  hit,  on  general  prin- 
ciples, and  of  course,  His  decision  is  the  one  that 
will  stand. 


TIN  CAN  TOMMY 

THE  crowd  arose  as  one  man.  Across  the 
expanse  of  dark-green  turf  in  right  field, 
the  white-uniformed  figure  of  Tethering- 
ton  flashed  toward  the  fence  and  then  steadied 
itself  under  the  descending  ball.  Blue-clad  ath- 
letes of  the  opposition  loped  leisurely  toward  the 
plate  from  second  and  third.  In  the  Wolves' 
dugout  a  few  pitchers  and  utility  men  snatched 
up  sweaters  and  gloves  preparatory  to  the  scram- 
ble for  the  dressing-rooms.  The  game  was  as 
good  as  over.  No  outfielder  would  miss  a  chance 
like  that. 

From  a  spot  high  up  on  the  right-field  bleach- 
ers, a  leather-lunged  fan  gave  tongue.  A  stento- 
rian yell,  the  embodiment  of  defiance  and  deri- 
sion, blasted  the  expectant  hush  that  lay  upon 
the  ball  park. 

"  Tin  Can !  "  roared  the  voice.  "  Tin  Can 
Tommy !    Tin  Can !  " 

A  hundred  throats,  then  a  thousand,  caught  up 
the  cry  and  hurled  it  at  the  Wolf  outfielder. 
Above  the  vocal  crescendo  sounded  the  unmis- 
takable raucous  jangle  of  ancient  tin  cans  tied 
to  strings  and  shaken  violently.    A  thought  wave, 

112 


TIN  CAN  TOMMY  113 

tidal  in  proportions,  engulfed  Tommy  Tethering- 
ton.  In  vain  he  tried  to  wall  out  the  telepathic 
storm  that  battered  at  his  self-control.  Panic 
froze  him.  The  descending  ball  took  on  weird 
proportions. 

"Tin  Can!    Tin  Can!" 

At  the  last  instant  he  tried  to  shift  his  hands 
so  as  to  take  the  ball  up  close  to  his  chest.  But 
his  fingers  fumbled,  fear  blinded  him,  and  the 
unbelievable  thing  for  which  the  shrieking  crowd 
dared  to  hope  actually  happened. 

Tetherington  dropped  the  ball. 

Hours  afterward,  "  Brick "  McGovern,  the 
astute  leader  of  many  a  long  and  hard-fought 
campaign  upon  the  diamond,  sent  for  Tethering- 
ton, and  the  two  men  met  in  McGovern's  room. 

The  fiery -haired  manager  came  straight  to  the 
point.  "  What  was  the  matter  out  there  to- 
day? " 

Tetherington's  gray  eyes  darkened  in  helpless 
misery.  "  Honest,  Brick,  that's  the  worst  sun- 
field  on  the  circuit.'' 

"  Oh,  it  was  the  sun,  was  it?  " 

"  Well,  the  wind  kept  blowing  the  ball  back." 

"  Oh,  it  was  the  wind,  eh?  " 

"  Yes,  it  was  the  wind." 

"  Tommy,"  said  McGovern,  "  you  dropped  that 
ball  because  a  bunch  of  yaps  shook  some  tin  cans 
at  you.    Wasn't  that  it?  " 


114       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

"  Yes,"  admitted  Tetherington ;  "  that  was 
it" 

McGovern  nodded.  "  Well/'  he  observed,  "  I'm 
selling  you  to  Donovan  of  Terre  Haute  who  once 
sold  me  an  outfielder  with  a  busted  leg.  I've 
heard  of  ball  players  losing  their  goats  in  all 
sorts  of  ways,  but  why  a  man  should  go  to  pieces 
w^hen  some  one  shakes  a  tin  can  at  him  is  beyond 
me.  Maybe  they  won't  have  any  tin  cans  in  Terre 
Haute." 

"  Yes,  they  will,"  Tetherington  returned 
quietly.  "  The  newspapers  will  print  the  story, 
and  the  cartoonists  and  the  funny  guys  will  put 
in  their  oars,  and  it  won't  be  long  before  they'll 
be  selling  tin  cans  outside  of  the  bleacher  en- 
trance, wherever  I'm  scheduled  to  play.  If  they 
did  that  to  you  long  enough  it  would  get  your 
goat,  too." 

McGovern  looked  concerned.  He  was  a  kindly 
man,  gentle  as  a  woman  under  his  rough  exterior.. 
Moreover  he  liked  the  wiry,  clean-cut  youngster 
standing  quietly  before  him. 

"  I'm  sorry — "  he  began. 

"  Sure !  "  agreed  Tetherington  "  It's  not  your 
fault.  I  was  just  born  to  have  a  tin  can  tied  on 
me,  I  guess.  Whenever  I  go  on  a  new  club,  I 
know  that  sooner  or  later  something  will  happen, 
like  to-day,  and  I'll  be  canned.  The  fans  know 
it,  the  newspapers  know  it,  and  it  always  comes 


TIN  CAN  TOMMY  115 

true.  I'm  not  called  ^  Tin  Can  Tommy  ^  for  noth- 
ing." 

"  And  yet/'  muttered  McGovern,  "  it  is  all  fool- 
ishness. Some  day  you  may  get  over  it.  You're 
only  a  kid  yet.  Of  course,  I'd  heard  about  it,  but 
I  couldn't  believe  it  till  I  saw  it." 

A  thought  occurred  to  him,  and  he  rubbed  his 
jaw  reflectively.  "  Tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Tommy ; 
I  can't  keep  you,  but  I  won't  sell  you  to  the 
bushes.  I'll  make  you  a  free  agent,  and  you  can 
take  the  best  job  that  you  can  find.  Only,"  he 
hastened  to  add,  "  there's  one  condition." 

"And  that  is?" 

"  That  if  you  ever  get  your  goat  back  under 
control — ^you  know  what  I  mean.  Tommy — ^if  you 
ever  get  over  this  tin-can  stuff,  you  come  to  old 
Brick  and  give  him  first  chance  at  your  services." 

"  Fair  enough ! "  nodded  Tetherington. 
"  Well,  I  guess  I'll  be  going." 

They  shook  hands  awkwardly.  The  "  free 
agent"  left  the  hotel  and  walked  aimlessly  in 
the  direction  of  the  downtown  district.  At  the 
corner  of  an  alleyway  he  stopped.  Lying  in  the 
gutter  was  a  discarded  and  badly  battered  tin 
can.  The  partly  opened  top  presented  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  mouth  that  leered  up  at  him  ma- 
lignantly. 

The  morning  papers  carried  Tetherington's 


116       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

picture  under  seven-column  lines.  "  Tin  Can 
Tommy  on  his  way  again/'  read  one.  "  Tether- 
ington  pulls  his  last  bloomer  in  the  Coast 
League/'  said  another.  The  column  writers  fea- 
tured his  departure  with  jest  and  jingle..  It  was 
one  of  the  best  jokes  of  the  season. 

Before  Tetherington's  vision  floated  a  scene 
he  had  been  trying  for  many  years  to  erase  from 
his  memory.  Now,  it  was  more  distinct  than 
ever.  He  saw  a  curly-haired  youngster  of  five, 
standing  horror-stricken  in  the  middle  of  tracks 
over  which  a  street  car  had  just  passed.  At  the 
little  one's  feet,  a  black-and-tan  puppy  was  dying. 
The  clatter  of  a  tin  can  fastened  to  the  animal's 
tail  beat  an  accompaniment  to  weakening  yelps. 
Long  after  puppy  and  can  were  still,  the  child 
stood  there  until  a  woman  led  it  gently  away. 

The  curly-haired  youngster  was  Tetherington ; 
the  puppy  his  first  love.  It  mattered  not  who 
among  his  play-mates  had  committed  the  prank. 
Upon  the  memory  of  the  sensitive  child  was  im- 
printed, so  clearly  as  to  tap  the  subconscious, 
an  association  of  tin  can  and  horror  as  unrea- 
soning as  that  which  impelled  the  puppy  to  rush 
headlong  to  its  fate. 

The  passing  years  had  brought  him  no  relief ; 
rather  they  had  deepened  the  obsession.  Through 
school  and  on  to  the  diamond,  the  nickname  for 
which  he  had  such  an  aversion  trailed  him  relent- 


TIN  CAN  TOMMY  117 

lessly.  And  sooner  or  later  his  nerves  snapped 
under  the  strain,  and  his  Nemesis  scored  again. 
Tetherington  closed  his  eyes  and  shuddered. 

In  a  calmer  moment  he  packed  his  few  belong- 
ings and  boarded  the  first  train  for  San  Jos6, 
reasoning  that  among  the  semipro  clubs  operat- 
ing in  the  Santa  Clara  Valley  he  could  find  tem- 
porary employment. 

The  spell  of  a  mid-autumn  Sabbath  lay  upon 
the  bay  section.  Tetherington  knew  that  later 
on  in  the  day  "  Foghorn  "  Reilly,  mounted  on  a 
fat  pony,  would  ride  down  Market  Street,  mega- 
phone in  hand;  turnstiles  would  begin  to  click 
in  ball  parks  from  Portland  to  Los  Angeles;  the 
heat  would  draw  the  pitch  from  the  new  boards 
in  the  Oakland  bleachers,  and  the  hot-weather 
twirlers  w^ould  be  clamoring  for  a  turn  on  the 
mound.  In  right  field  for  the  Wolves  would  be 
"Rube"  Dallas,  weak  at  the  bat,  but  a  sure 
fielder.    There  would  be  no  rattle  of  cans. 

At  Fruitvale  a  crowd  of  young  people,  bound 
for  the  picnic  grounds  at  Alum  Rock,  swarmed 
into  the  day  coach  where  Tetherington  sat.  He 
surrendered  his  seat  to  a  laughing  girl  with  a 
pale  face,  vivid-red  hair,  and  a  light-green  dress. 
Green,  white,  and  red — his  college  colors!  She 
thanked  him,  with  a  side  glance  from  under  curv- 
ing eyelashes.  He  responded  awkwardly  and 
moved  toward  the  smoking  car.    At  the  door  he 


118       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

changed  his  mind  and  remained  standing  in  the 
aisle,  affecting  to  be  interested  in  his  newspaper, 
but  holding  it  in  such  a  way  that  he  could  sur- 
vey his  fellow  passengers.  The  vision  in  green 
caught  him  looking  at  her,  and  he  hastily  shifted 
his  paper,  but  not  before  he  had  seen  her  smile 
demurely. 

He  was  suddenly  conscious  of  the  bitter  lone- 
liness to  which  the  professional  ball  player  is 
heir.  Known  to  thousands  so  intimately  that 
they  could  identify  his  every  movement  in  the 
field,  he  knew  scarcely  any  one.  Off  the  diamond 
his  world  was  a  thing  of  hotel  lobbies,  cheap 
shows,  lunch  counters,  and  railroad  trains.  The 
sporting  page  encompassed  his  interests,  and  his 
social  attainments  were  recorded  only  in  the  cur- 
rent baseball  guides  under  the  batting  averages. 
Now  he  felt  a  great  longing  to  speak  to  this  girl 
with  the  red  hair  and  the  green  dress  who  smiled 
at  him. 

The  local  left  the  main  line  and  curved  off  to 
the  right  on  a  single  track.  Scarcely  a  half  mile 
from  the  junction,  the  whistle  sounded  once, 
short  and  sharp,  air  brakes  screeched,  and  the 
train  jerked  to  a  standstill. 

Through  the  window,  Tetherington  made  out 
two  men  in  the  striped  overalls  of  the  mail  crew, 
running  bare-headed  toward  the  plowed  field  that 
flanked  the  right  of  way.     At  the  fence,  they 


TIN  CAN  TOMMY  119 

turned  and  looked  back,  much  as  small  boys 
do  who  have  reached  a  safe  distance  after  light- 
ing the  fuse  of  a  giant  cracker. 

Mild  wonder  possessed  him,  succeeded  by  quick 
fear  as  his  ears  caught  the  rush  of  an  approach- 
ing train.  Others  divined  the  danger  at  the 
same  moment.  Men  and  women  stood  up,  wide- 
eyed  and  white-faced.  Tetherington's  baseball 
instinct  served  him  in  good  stead.  He  moved 
swiftly  and  surely  down  the  aisle  toward  the 
girl  in  green  and  as  naturally  as  though  she  had 
known  him  all  her  life,  she  rose  to  meet  him 
with  outstretched  hands.  In  the  eyes  of  each 
flamed  a  light  as  old  as  Eden. 

The  ground  shook,  the  rail  clicked  as  the  two 
trains  crashed.  The  shock  hurled  Tetherington 
and  the  girl  together,  and  the  man  twisted  his 
body  to  ward  off  the  flying  glass  as  they  went 
down.  The  coach,  rearing  on  end  like  a  thing 
alive,  swayed  under  tumbled  trucks,  and  then 
settled  back  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

The  thing  was  over  with  astonishing  swift- 
ness, yet,  for  a  moment,  Tetherington's  faculties 
were  so  numb  that  the  near-by  screams  of  women 
came  to  him  as  through  a  telephone,  and  he  saw 
only,  felt  only,  the  unconscious  girl  in  his  arms. 

In  another  moment  he  was  on  his  feet,  sup- 
porting the  limp  form  and  working  his  way  to- 


120       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

ward  the  car  door.  He  saw  that  she  was  appar- 
ently unhurt  and,  once  outside  on  the  ground, 
he  turned  the  girl  over  to  a  number  of  women 
who  followed  them,  gave  curt  orders,  and  dashed 
back,  into  the  coaches  to  render  what  help  he 
could.. 

Apparently  there  were  no  serious  injuries.  The 
steel  mail  cars  and  baggage  equipment  had  acted 
as  a  buffer,  and  the  engine  crews  of  both  trains 
as  well  as  the  messengers  had  received  warning 
in  time  to  jump  when  they  saw  the  impending 
collision. 

Tetherington  went  ahead  to  where  two  tele- 
scoped locomotives  lurched  drunkenly  in  a  litter 
of  broken  trucks  and  uptorn  rails.  On  the  way 
he  passed  a  conductor.  The  man  limped  along 
painfully,  eyes  on  the  ground,  his  face  expres- 
sionless. On  his  sleeve  there  were  four  gold 
stripes  and  two  stars. 

Surrounded  by  a  group  of  attentive  passen- 
gers, a  brakeman  was  chattering  volubly.  Teth- 
erington caught  fragments :  "  No.  24,  half  an 
hour  late — told  Sam  that  wasn't  her  we  passed 
on  the  main — must  have  been  a  special — guess 
he  signed  the  train  register  without  looking — 
tough  after  thirty  years — The  can? — ^you  said 
it!'' 

So  some  one  else  was  being  canned !  And  after 
thirty  years'  service !    A  wish  that  he  could  say 


TIN  CAN  TOMMY  121 

something  to  the  conductor  moved  Tetherington. 
He  wanted  to  clap  the  veteran  on  the  shoulder 
as  men  do  on  the  ball  field  and  say :  "  Heads  up, 
old  boy.  The  best  of  us  boot  'em  once  in  a 
while!'' 

Instead  he  went  back  to  the  place  where  he 
had  left  the  girl  and  found  her  sitting  up,  await- 
ing him. 

"  Somebody  pulled  a  bonehead  play,"  he  ex- 
plained ;  "  there's  nobody  hurt,  but  the  track  is 
torn  up,  and  we'll  have  to  stick  here  for  a  few 
hours.    Looks  like  your  picnic  is  off." 

"  Bother  the  picnic !  "  she  exclaimed  indig- 
nantly. "You're  hurt.  Come  here  and  let  me 
l^x  you  up." 

Tetherington  submitted  ungraciously.  From 
some  mysterious  source  the  girl  produced  an  im- 
promptu bandage  and  adjusted  it  around  his 
head,  ignoring  his  protests  that  "it  was  solid 
ivory,  any  way." 

"  There  now,"  she  said,  "  you're  all  right.  My 
name's  Kitty  Carey.  You  helped  me  out,  didn't 
you?  I  was  scared  to  death.  Let's  go  up  and 
take  a  look  at  things." 

After  they  had  poked  around  amidst  the  wreck- 
age and  watched  the  emergency  repairs  being 
made,  they  hunted  out  a  shady  tree  and  sat  down 
to  await  the  relief  train  that  the  conductor  an- 
nounced was  already  on  its  way. 


122      HEAKTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

"  Do  you  live  in  San  Jos6?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,"  he  responded ;  "  I  was  going  there  to 
hunt  for  a  job.  You  don't  know  of  any  in  Fruit- 
vale?  ''  He  had  intended  to  be  facetious,  but  she 
took  the  query  in  all  seriousness. 

"  Can  you  drive  a  truck? '' 

"Can  I?"  he  echoed.  "Sister,  how  did  you 
guess  it?    I  was  in  the  M.  T.  C.  for  a  year.'' 

The  girl  looked  at  him,  a  blank  expression  on 
her  face. 

"  The  Motor  Transport  Corps,"  Tetherington 
explained.    "  France,  you  know." 

Kitty's  blue  eyes  lighted  in  admiration.  She 
clapped  her  hands.  "  Then  I've  got  it ! "  she 
exclaimed. 

"  Got  what?  "  he  inquired,  grinning. 

"  A  job,  stupid !  One  of  the  drivers  quit  yes- 
terday. The  boss  is  on  the  train.  Come  on  and 
we'll  find  him,  and  I'll  introduce  you." 

■  Tetherington  hesitated.  "  Wait  a  minute,  sis; 
I've  got  to  be  free  on  Sundays  and  Saturday  aft- 
ernoons.   I  can  make  good  dough  playing  ball." 

"  That's  all  right,"  she  assured  him ;  "  this  is 
no  sweatshop.  It's  the  National  Can  Factory.  I 
w^ork  there  myself — why,  what's  the  matter?  " 

The  young  man's  face  had  gone  white.  He 
glared  at  her  so  strangely  that  she  drew  back. 
The  move  convinced  him  that  she  attached  no  sig- 
nificance to  her  words. 


TIN  CAN  TOMMY  123 

"  The  what  factory?  "  he  asked  slowly. 

^'  The  National  Can  Factory — where  they  make 
tin  cans;  we  turn  out  four  thousand  every  day. 
Come  on ! " 

Tetherington  drew  back.  "  Listen,  sis,"  he 
said,  speaking  deliberately ;  "  if  there's  one  thing 
more  than  another  I  hate,  it's  tin  cans.  They  get 
my  goat.  I  can't  stand  them.  I  would  as  soon 
work  in  a  morgue.  Here,  read  this,  and  maybe 
you'll  get  it!" 

He  produced  a  copy  of  the  morning  paper  and 
turned  to  the  sporting  page,  indicating  his  pic- 
ture and  the  headlines. 

Kitty  read  the  paper  in  silence  while  he  sat 
by  her  side,  digging  his  heel  into  the  turf  and 
waiting  sullenly.  He  expected  her  to  laugh,  in 
which  case,  he  told  himself,  he  would  be  on  his 
way. 

When  she  had  finished,  however,  she  put  a 
small  hand  on  his  own.  "  You  poor  kid ! " 
she  said  sympathetically.  "  Tell  me  all  about 
it!" 

An  hour  later,  when  relief  trains  came  up  from 
either  direction,  Tetherington  had  told  her  all 
about  the  dying  puppy  and  other  things  that  had 
lain  deep  within  him  for  many  years. 

Passengers  climbed  into  the  cars.  Conductors 
waved  at  them  from  two  directions. 

"  I  don't  suppose,"  Kitty  ventured,  "  that  any- 


124       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

body  could  induce  you  just  to  try  that  job  I  spoke 
of?" 

"  Sister,"  replied  Tethering  ton,  "  I'll  sign  up 
for  any  job  you  say.  The  worst  they  can  do  is  to 
can  me,  and  I'm  getting  so  I  don't  mind  that. 
Let's  go." 

Hand  in  hand  they  ran  for  the  Fruitvale  train. 

The  days  that  followed  held  a  new  interest  for 
Tetherington.  For  the  first  time  since  his  boy- 
hood, life  assumed  a  more  normal  aspect.  On 
week  days  he  hauled  heavy  crates  from  the  fac- 
tory at  Fruitvale  to  the  various  freight  houses 
from  which  the  plant  shipped  its  products.  Sun- 
days were  given  over  to  baseball,  evenings  to 
Kitty  Carey  and  the  movies. 

Soon  the  girl  was  accompanying  him  to  the 
games  in  which  he  participated,  watching  his 
every  move  in  the  field,  and  at  bat,  and  twisting 
her  handkerchief  tight  whenever  the  ball  went 
his  direction,  or  he  was  sliding  into  a  bag  and 
the  play  was  close. 

All  ball  players  have  their  bad  days.  Tether- 
ington had  his,  and  Kitty  was  present  to  witness 
his  downfall.  For  the  first  time  she  heard  them 
call  "  Tin  Can  "  at  him.  It  was  a  youngster  in 
short  trousers  who  shrilled  it  and  Tetherington 
missed  a  catch  that  ordinarily  he  would  have 
made  easily. 


TIN  CAN  TOMMY  125 

The  next  inning  he  stumbled  in  starting  after 
a  hard  drive,  and  the  ball  rolled  to  the  fence. 

The  fans  were  on  to  him  then  in  earnest,  hoot- 
ing and  jeering  and  demanding  to  know  where 
he  was  last  night. 

As  Tetherington  trotted  in  at  the  close  of  the 
inning,  stuffing  his  glove  into  his  hip  pocket,  a 
fan  leaned  over  the  low  railing. 

"  Say,  Tin  Can,"  he  roared,  "  why  don't  you 
get  your  lady  friend  to  make  you  a  basket?  '' 

Tetherington  detected  the  fan  with  one  swift 
glance,  whirled  toward  the  railing,  leaped  it, 
and  got  both  hands  on  the  man's  throat.  By- 
standers separated  the  pair  just  in  time  to  pre- 
vent murder,  and  a  dozen  fights  started  between 
those  who  wanted  the  player  arrested  and  those 
who  insisted  that  Tin  Can  did  right  in  resenting 
the  reference  to  his  girl. 

This  incident,  however,  ended  Tetherington's 
connection  with  the  Fruitvale  Eagles,  and  it  also 
ended  his  peace  of  mind. 

With  Kitty's  hand  in  his  as  they  walked 
through  the  park  that  evening,  he  tried  to  say 
what  was  in  his  mind,  but  found  it  difficult.  At 
last  she  had  to  come  to  his  aid. 

"  You're  a  dear  boy.  Tommy,  and  I  love  you, 
but  I  won't  marry  you  now,  and  you're  wrong 
about  going  away  some  place  where  you're  not 
known.     The  trouble  is  you,  Tommy,  and  you 


126       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

can't  run  away  from  yourself ;  you've  got  to  stay 
and  fight  this  thing  out." 

Tetherington  offered  no  comment  and  Kitty 
continued :  "  Can't  you  see,  dear,  that  if  we  were 
to  marry,  and  you  were  still  afraid  of  tin  cans, 
we  would  both  be  thinking  how  different  things 
might  be  if  it  wasn't  for  your  weakness,  and  the 
first  thing  you  know  we  would  forget  to  be  pa- 
tient with  one  another — and  I  would  be  afraid 
to  have  a  tin  can  in  the  house.  Why,  Tommy, 
everybody  tells  me  you  ought  to  be  in  the  majors 
— think  of  it,  dear,  back  East  in  the  great  cities 
— that's  where  they  say  you  belong." 

"  I  know,"  he  muttered ;  "  and  I  could  get  there 
if  you  would  only  string  along." 

Kitty  did  not  reply  to  this,  and  they  walked  on 
in  silence. 

The  next  day  Tetherington  was  in  the  hospital 
with  a  dislocated  shoulder  and  three  fractured 
ribs.  They  told  Kitty  Carey  at  the  factory,  and 
she  hurried,  hatless,  to  his  side,  dumb  appeal  in 
her  eyes. 

"  Don't  worry,  sis,"  he  told  her ;  "  I'm  only 
scratched.  The  truck's  busted  to  pieces,  I  guess. 
Went  off  the  road  in  broad  daylight.  Can  you 
beat  it?  " 

"  Tommy,  it  wasn't  what  we  were  talking  about 
last  night  that  bothered  you?  " 

"  No,  sis ;  not  exactly.    It  was  the  cans  again 


TIN  CAN  TOMMY  127 

— ^hundreds  of  them — jangling  along  at  my  back 
just  as  if  they  were  tied  to  me.  They  got  my 
goat  just  like  I  knew  they  would — every  darned 
one  of  them  clinking  and  clanking  and  saying, 
*Well,  even  Kitty  tied  the  can  to  you — Kitty- 
can,  Kitty-can,  Kitty-can ! ' '' 

"  Tommy !  "  She  dropped  to  her  knees  beside 
Ms  bed.  "  Tommy,  I'll  marry  you  right  now, 
right  this  very  minute !  " 

"You  will  not,"  he  contradicted  her;  "youll 
marry  me  on  the  day  I  bust  back  into  the  Coast 
League,  and  believe  me  I'm  going  to  bust !  " 

The  girl's  eyes  sparkled  as  he  went  on  boy- 
ishly :  "  I'm  not  going  to  have  my  girl  put  it  up 
to  me  that  I'm  afraid  of  a  tin  can.  Afraid — 
that's  what  you  said.  Funny  I  never  looked  at 
it  like  that  before,  but  I've  been  lying  here  think- 
ing and  thinking,  and  all  of  a  sudden  it  came  to 
me." 

"  What  came.  Tommy?  " 

"Why,  that  puppy  of  mine  was  killed  by 
fear.  The  tin  can  never  hurt  him,  did  it?  If  he 
hadn't  run  away,  he  wouldn't  have  been  run 
over." 

"  That's  right,"  she  agreed. 

"  And  the  tin  can  never  prevented  me  from 
catching  a  ball — it  was  just  the  fear  that  it 
would." 

Again  she  nodded  vigorously. 


128       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

"  So  what  I  have  to  do  now  is  to  learn  to  like 
the  rattle  of  a  can." 

"I'll  help,  Tommy,"  Kitty  told  him.  "I'll 
shake  a  can  at  you  when  we're  alone  in  the  eve- 
nings if  you  want."  She  was  laughing  through 
her  tears. 

"  No,  sis,"  he  returned  soberly ;  "I'm  going  to 
bat  for  myself  this  round — all  by  myself — and  I 
want  you  to  promise  me  one  thing." 

"  I  promise !  " 

"  Well,  don't  come  to  see  me,  don't  write,  don't 
try  to  find  out  what's  happened  to  me.  I'll  be 
out  of  the  hospital  in  a  week,  and  Kid  Jinx  and 
I  are  going  to  the  mat.  When  I  put  my  fist  to  a 
Coast  League  contract,  I'll  come  around  with  a 
minister." 

"  But,  Tommy,  maybe  tjiey  won't  have 
you ! "  Kitty  Carey's  pale  face  went  a  shade 
whiter. 

"  Won't,  eh?  "  returned  Tetherington.  "  Kitty, 
two  years  from  now,  we'll  be  in  the  majors. 
You'll  see!" 

Of  the  winter  that  followed,  Kitty  Carey  never 
could  recall  more  than  two  days — Christmas  and 
New  Year's.  On  each  occasion,  Tetherington 
sent  by  parcel  post  a  box  of  candy  and  followed 
it  with  a  letter  which  bore  no  address. 

"  Everything's  coming  out  all  right,  sis,"  he 


TIN  CAN  TOMMY  129 

wrote;  "you  and  I  are  going  to  keep  that  date 
with  the  minister." 

As  a  postscript  to  the  first  letter  he  had  scrib- 
bled :  "  Oil  cans  are  the  best.  They  squash 
easier." 

When  Kitty  came  to  the  bottom  of  the  second 
letter,  her  growing  suspicion  as  to  Tethering- 
ton's  state  of  mind  was  confirmed.  She  read 
through  tears :  "  Tin  cans  are  O.K.,  so  long  as 
they're  not  too  rusty." 

Spring  came,  a  California  spring,  with  green 
hills  calling  to  all  lovers  to  come  out  and  play. 

McTigue,  forewoman  at  the  can  factory,  big  of 
bone  and  heart,  sent  for  operator  No.  305. 
"  What's  this  about  your  fainting  this  morning, 
dearie?    Aren't  you  feeling  right?  " 

Kitty  Carey  looked  out  of  the  open  window 
and  twisted  her  apron.  "  McTigue,"  she  said, 
"  do  people  know  it  when  they  go  crazy?  " 

The  forewoman  banished  the  quick  look  of 
alarm  that  crossed  her  face.  "  See  here,  honey, 
don't  you  talk  about  such  things.  Get  your  hat 
and  go  for  a  long  walk.  I  wish  McTigue  had  a 
hundred  dollars,  and  she'd  stake  you  to  a  week 
in  the  country  where  you'd  never  see  a  can." 

"  Do  they  get  on  your  nerves,  too?  " 

"  Of  course,  dearie.  Now  run  along,  and  don't 
come  back.    I'll  punch  your  time." 

The  girl  obeyed  mechanically.    As  she  left  the 


130       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

factory  and  headed  down  the  broad  street  that 
led  to  the  channel,  a  touring  car  stopped  abruptly 
in  its  approach  to  the  front  entrance,  turned, 
and  followed  her. 

An  automobile  horn  honked  at  her  twice,  in- 
sinuatingly. She  quickened  her  pace  without 
looking  up.  The  driver  ran  his  machine  to  the 
curb  ahead,  opened  the  tonneau  door,  and  waited 
until  she  was  abreast  of  him.  Once  more  he 
sounded  his  horn. 

The  girl  turned  furiously.  "  You'd  better  let 
me  alone  if  you  know  what's  good  for  you !  "  she 
flared.     "  Why — why — Tommy !  " 

In  the  completeness  of  the  surprise  she  swayed 
uncertainly,  and  Tetherington  leaped  to  her  sup- 
port. Eyes  closed,  and  lips  upturned,  she 
permitted  him  to  crush  her  in  their  first 
embrace. 

Later,  snuggled  by  his  side  in  the  front  seat, 
and  the  machine  headed  for  the  boulevard,  she 
stole  a  wondering  glance  at  him. 

"  Tommy,  I  don't  believe  you're  crazy  at  all ! 
You  look  simply  fine,  and  I'm  mad  at  you — so 
there!" 

He  looked  down  at  her,  puzzled. 

"  The  letters,  you  know — you  spoke  so  funny. 
Oh,  Tommy,  I  was  worried!  What  have  you 
been  doing?  " 

For  the  first  time,  Tetherington  saw  how  frail 


TIN  CAN  TOMMY  131 

she  was,  and  noticed  the  shadows  under  her 
eyes.  He  berated  himself  aloud.  "  I've  got  no 
more  sense  than  an  umpire!  Here  I  go  away 
and  have  a  lot  of  fun,  figuring  how  surprised 
and  happy  you'll  be  when  you  learn  all  about  it, 
and  I  never  think  about  the  play  being  too  deep. 
Say,  I'm  an  awful  skull ! " 

He  pondered  in  silence  over  his  amazing  stu- 
pidity while  sending  the  machine  across  Oak- 
land and  into  the  manufacturing  center  of  Em- 
eryville. At  last  he  paused  before  a  dilapidated 
structure  that  resembled  an  abandoned  coal  yard. 
Over  the  one-room  shack  that  served  apparently 
as  an  office  a  huge  sign  read :  "  T.  Tetherington, 
Tinsmith." 

"  For  pity's  sake !  '^  the  girl  exclaimed.  "  Tin- 
smith!" 

"  Sure !  "  he  returned.  "  Come  into  the  yard, 
and  I'll  show  you  what  I've  been  doing  since  I 
last  saw  you." 

She  followed  him  into  a  huge  inclosure  and 
stared  with  uncomprehending  eyes.  Wherever 
she  looked,  on  all  sides,  piled  into  miniature 
mountains,  stacked  under  rough  sheds,  heaped 
on  the  ground,  on  wagons,  on  wooden  trays,  were 
battered,  broken,  disreputable,  and  infinitely 
dirty  tin  cans. 

A  great  fear  sprang  into  Kitty  Carey's  eyes. 
Her  lips  quivered. 


132       HEAKTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

"  Hold  on !  "  Tetherington  cried.  "  I'm  not  a 
nut,  sis ;  this  is  on  the  level.  Eight  dollars  a  ton 
I  get  for*  them — contract  with  the  Universal 
Chemical  Company — I've  got  four  hundred  tons 
more  coming." 

"  What  on  earth—" 

"  Copper/'  explained  the  proprietor  of  the  Teth- 
erington tin  yard ;  "  they  use  them  in  recovering 
copper,  can  you  beat  it?  I've  got  every  hotel  and 
restaurant  in  Central  California  tied  up  on  a 
contract,  and  an  agreement  with  the  Garbage 
Dealers'  Association.     I — " 

"  Tommy,"  the  girl  interrupted,  "  you've  won, 
oh,  you've  really  won ! "  Her  face  was  trans- 
figured. 

"  Batting  .400,"  he  assented.  "  Got  to  admit  it 
myself." 

"And  the  cans  don't  talk  to  you  any  more? 
They  don't  say  ^Kitty-can  '?  " 

"They  talk  to  me  all  right,'^  he  replied 
gravely ;  "  but  not  in  the  same  way.  You  know, 
sis,  I  told  you  I  would  go  to  the  mat  with  this 
thing— well,  I  did !  All  winter,  I've  hunted  tin 
cans  in  the  daytime,  and  slept  on  them  at  night. 
I've  studied  them,  dreamed  about  them,  prayed 
to  them.  There  isn't  anything  about  a  tin  can 
in  the  public  library  that  I  haven't  read ;  that's 
where  I  got  the  tip  as  to  what  they  were  good 
for.    Then  I  said  to  myself,  '  I'll  get  five  hundred 


TIN  CAN  TOMMY  133 

tons  of  the  blame  things — that's  four  thousand 
dollars — and  I'll  go  back  to  my  girl.'  Night- 
times I've  come  down  here  just  to  listen  to  the 
music.     Listen ! " 

He  picked  up  a  can  and  threw  it  on  a  near-by- 
heap,  where  it  clattered  and  clanked  untunefully 
to  lower  levels. 

"  What  did  it  say?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Pshaw !  "  he  grumbled.  "  Where  are  your 
ears?  Didn't  you  hear  it  say  '  Clinkety-Kitty- 
kiss  '  and  then  ^  Kitty -can  '?  " 

"  But  you  were  going  to  get  back  in  the  Coast 
League,"  she  reminded  him. 

"  I  know,  sis — ^look  here !  " 

He  produced  a  long  envelope  from  which  he  ex- 
tracted a  legal  document  for  her  inspection.  "  I 
wrote  to  Brick  McGovern,"  he  told  her,  "  and  he 
sent  me  a  contract.  Of  course,  I  have  to  make 
good  in  the  training  camp,  or  it  won't  mean  any- 
thing." 

"  Oh,  Tommy,  I  want  to  help — I  want  you  to 
win !  " 

"  You  are  helping,  sis ;  it's  all  you.  We're  go- 
ing back  to  the  majors  sure,  little  girl." 

They  regarded  one  another  for  a  moment  in  a 
way  that  is  known  only  to  lovers  in  April — ^lovers 
to  whom  the  whole  world  belongs. 

"  Kitty -kiss?  "  he  queried. 


134       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

"  Kitty-can,"  she  answered,  and  went  into  his 
arms. 

Mounted  on  a  fat  pony,  Foghorn  Reilly  rode 
down  Market  Street  early  one  afternoon,  of  the 
following  autumn.  In  one  hand  he  held  his 
familiar  megaphone,  while  the  other  was  engaged 
in  swinging  a  string  of  tin  cans  which  banged 
and  clattered  in  the  path  of  traf&c. 

The  Honorable  Julius  Hetling,  United  States 
senator  from  California,  addressed  his  old  and 
intimate  friend  Barney  Guthrie  over  the  coun- 
ter of  the  latter's  cigar  stand.  "What  is  the  big 
idea?"  he  asked. 

Guthrie  looked  shocked.  "  Do  you  mean  to 
tell  me  you  don't  know  about  '  Tin  Can  Tommy 
Day?'  That's  what  comes  of  a  man  sticking  in 
Washington  when  he  ought  to  be  out  mingling 
with  his  constituents!  You  remember  Tether- 
ington  of  the  Wolves?  " 

"  Certainly !  "  responded  the  senator.  "  Every- 
body knows  Tin  Can  Tommy.  Whatever  hap- 
pened to  him  ?  " 

"  He's  back." 

"  They  never  come  back,"  deplored  the  Honor- 
able Julius.  "  Tetherington  was  a  good  man, 
bu1>-" 

"  Tommy  is  back  with  both  feet,"  insisted  Bar- 
ney Guthrie,    "  They  have  sold  him  to  New  York 


TIN  CAN  TOMMY  135 

for  twenty  thousand  dollars,  and  this  is  Ms  day 
at  the  ball  park.  You  should  keep  in  touch 
with—" 

Senator  Hetling  consulted  his  watch.  ^^At 
three  o^clock  I  was  to  address  the  League  for  the 
Preservation  of  Our  Native  Wildflowers,"  he 
mused.  "  I  suppose  I  could  be  summoned  unex- 
pectedly by  affairs  of  State." 

"  Of  course,"  returned  Guthrie,  "  and  I  will 
have  my  boy  bring  the  car  around.  We  had  bet- 
ter 'phone  for  seats.  Do  you  like  them  back  of 
first  or  third?  " 

At  eight  dollars  a  ton,  the  Universal  Chemical 
Company  was  a  piker  in  the  prices  it  paid  for  tin 
cans.  Concessionaries  at  the  entrance  to  the 
Wolves'  ball  park  got  ten  cents  apiece  for  small 
cans,  and  twenty-five  cents  for  those  of  larger 
and  noisier  tendencies.  The  supply  ran  out  after 
the  first  ten  thousand  fans  had  streamed  into 
the  grounds. 

"  Ee-yah !  "  sighed  umpire  "  Bull "  Feeney,  as 
he  took  up  his  stand  back  of  the  catcher.  "  This 
is  going  to  be  the  worst  game  in  history.  Mind 
you  keep  off  my  toes,  Bill,  or  I  won't  give  you  the 
corners.     S-T-R-I-K-E  O-N-E !  " 

It  was  not  the  worst  game  in  history,  but  from 
the  standpoint  of  baseball  technique  it  was  un- 
doubtedly the  worst  of  the  season,  likewise  the 
most  satisfying.    When  two  clubs  like  the  Wolves 


136       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

and  the  Angels  acquire  twenty-one  runs  in  three 
hours,  having  gone  into  extra  innings  before 
reaching  a  decision,  the  gentlemen  in  the  press 
box  may  sniff  in  the  direction  of  Denmark,  but 
the  bugs  in  the  bleachers  and  grand  stands  will 
go  home  hoarse  and  happy,  convinced  that  they 
have  had  their  money's  worth. 

In  this  case,  the  Wolf  fans  came  to  see  Tin 
Can  Tommy  in  action.  They  wanted  to  see  the 
man  who  had  batted  in  more  runs  for  Brick  Mc- 
Govern  than  any  three  others  on  the  team,  and 
they  wanted  to  cheer  him  while  he  batted  in 
more.  Also,  they  wanted  to  see  him  cut  off  a 
runner  at  the  plate  with  the  unerring  peg  that 
had  caused  major-league  managers  to  wire  their 
scouts  to  "bid  the  limit.'' 

Fate,  or  whatever  influence  decides  the  breaks 
of  baseball,  ordained  that  Wolf  fandom  should 
get  its  fill.  Tim  Gleason,  clean-up  man  for  the 
Angels,  caught  the  ball  full  on  the  nose  in  the 
seventh  inning,  with  the  bags  full  and  two  out, 
and  drove  into  right  center  where  only  one  out- 
fielder in  the  world  could  have  got  it.  And  just 
because  that  outfielder  was  there,  the  crowd,  held 
spell-bound  in  the  ecstasy  of  its  hope,  saw  Tether- 
ington  throw  himself  forward  in  a  head-long 
dive,  roll  over  twice,  and  come  up  with  the  ball 
in  his  bare  hand. 

Then,  and  not  until  then,  came  a  tin-can  bed- 


TIN  CAN  TOMMY  137 

lam!  The  air  was  full  of  tin  cans;  the  grand 
stand  erupted  them ;  the  bleachers  rained 
them. 

When  Tetherington  came  to  bat  in  the  next  in- 
ning, Foghorn  Reilly,  heading  a  committee  of 
leading  citizens,  interrupted  the  proceedings  long 
enough  to  present  Tin  Can  Tommy  with  a  silver 
and  gold  loving  cup,  fashioned  in  the  shape  of  a 
tin  can.  Everybody  posed  for  pictures,  and  then 
Tetherington  struck  out,  which  did  not  disap- 
point any  one,  since  that  is  always  the  way  such 
ceremonies  conclude.  His  revenge  came  in  the 
last  of  the  twelfth,  with  one  run  needed  to  win, 
and  the  crowd  up  on  its  feet  rooting  for  Tin  Can 
Tommy  to  turn  the  trick. 

Perhaps  "Slim"  Eoberts  had  tired;  perhaps 
he  thought  that  the  hero  of  the  day  had  done  all 
the  damage  he  was  likely  to  do ;  perhaps — who 
knows?  Anyway,  the  Angel  pitcher  grooved  a 
ball,  shoulder-high,  and  Tetherington  swung  on 
it  with  all  the  strength  of  his  eager  young  body. 
"  Crack ! '' 

Far  out  in  left  field,  Cy  Donovan  saw  the  ball 
coming,  but  he  did  not  move  out  of  his  tracks. 
He  had  been  too  long  in  the  game  not  to  know 
where  that  particular  ball  was  headed.  As  it 
passed  twenty  feet  over  his  head,  he  blew  it  a 
farewell  kiss,  and  started  for  the  clubhouse.  He 
heard  the  thump  of  flying  leather  in  the  bleachers 


138       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

as  he  ran.  "  That  kid  can  sure  bust  'em,"  was 
his  only  comment. 

Tin  Can  Tommy's  teammates  got  to  him  first 
as  he  jogged  over  the  plate,  but  the  crowd  was 
right  behind.  They  caught  him  up  and  surged 
over  the  field  in  an  aimless  flood,  depositing  him 
at  last  in  rags  at  the  clubhouse  entrance.  There 
he  made  a  speech,  which  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  game,  but  a  whole  lot  to  do  with  the  advan- 
tages of  matrimony.  Nobody  saw  the  connection, 
but  they  cheered  him  on  general  principles. 

Kitty  and  Brick  McGovern  were  waiting  for 
him  in  a  taxicab. 

"  I  was  just  telling  your  wife,"  said  the  vet- 
eran, "  that  if  you  ever  get  in  a  slump  back  there 
in  New  York,  all  she  has  to  do  is  to  shake  a  can 
at  you." 

Tetherington  put  one  arm  around  his  wife  and 
drew  her  to  him.  "  Sweetest  music  in  the  world," 
he  chuckled.     "  Klinkety-Kitty-kiss?  " 

"  Kitty-can,"  whispered  his  wife. 

Brick  McGovern  sighed  and  looked  out  of  the 
window. 


KERRIGAN'S  KID 

FROM  a  bedroom  window  that  overlooked 
the  St.  Clair  ball  park,  a  boy  looked  down 
intently  through  a  pair  of  old-fashioned 
opera  glasses. 

Jimmy  Kerrigan  was  a  very  little  boy,  and  he 
took  more  than  ordinary  interest  in  the  uniformed 
figures  far  below  him,  skimming  around  like  gray 
water-bugs  on  a  big  green  pond.  One  glance  un- 
der the  bed-clothes  at  the  little  leg  encased  in 
plaster  of  Paris  from  knee  to  hip,  and  you  would 
have  understood  why  Jimmy's  area  of  entertain- 
ment was  limited. 

On  Friday  afternoons,  when  a  section  of  the 
left-field  bleachers,  almost  under  his  window,  was 
filled  with  jubilant  youngsters  who  had  been  ad- 
mitted free,  the  boy  liked  to  imagine  that  he  was 
sitting  in  the  very  front  row,  where  he  had  a 
fair  chance  to  scramble  for  the  balls  occasionally 
batted  into  the  inclosure. 

One  afternoon,  an  almost  unbelievable  thing 
happened.  A  ball  from  the  bat  of  Truck  Darrow 
actually  passed  over  the  fence  and  hit  not  twenty 
feet  below  the  boy's  open  window.  In  a  frenzy 
of  excitement,  Jimmy  Kerrigan  stretched  out  one 

139 


140       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

hand  as  far  as  he  could,  but  the  sudden  move- 
ment disturbed  the  heavy  weight  affixed  through 
a  pulley  to  his  left  leg,  and  he  dropped  back  upon 
his  pillow,  a  little  whiter  than  usual. 

When  the  score-board  opposite  him  showed 
that  the  Wolves  had  lost,  he  closed  the  window 
slowly  and  turned  to  his  remaining  diversion — 
a  homemade  scrapbook  liberally  adorned  with 
newspaper  illustrations,  nearly  all  of  the  same 
individual,  a  big,  heavy-shouldered  man  in  a  St. 
Clair  uniform. 

Underneath  a  picture,  pasted  in  his  book  only 
that  morning,  Jimmy  came  upon  a  name  with 
which  he  was  perfectly  familiar,  but  there  was  a 
two-word  prefix  that  was  new  to  him.  He  spelled 
out  the  letters,  but  they  did  not  seem  to  make 
any  sense.  He  was  still  puzzling  over  the  prob- 
lem when  the  door  opened  and  the  original  of 
the  picture  entered  the  room.  The  boy's  eyes 
brightened. 

"H'lo,  Dad!" 

"'Lo,  Son!" 

"  We  lost  again  to-day,  didn't  we?  But  they 
didn't  hit  you  hard." 

"  Not  very  hard.  Son.  But  that's  the  way  the 
luck  goes  sometimes.  One  of  these  days  it  will 
change ;  it's  got  to !  You  keeping  quiet  like  the 
Doc'  said?" 

"  Sure," 


KERRIGAN'S  KID  ^  141 

"  That's  good,  Son.  I've  got  some  swell  news 
for  you.  There's  a  big  French  doctor  coming  out 
here  next  month,  a  regular  major-leaguer,  and 
they  tell  me  at  the  hospital  that  if  anybody  can 
fix  up  your  leg,  it's  him.  Now,  ain't  that 
swell?  " 

Jimmy's  eyes  glistened.  "  And  will  I  be  able 
to  play  ball  again?    Will  I?  " 

"  Shouldn't  wonder.  But  we  got  to  get  a  few 
more  games  under  our  belt  and  pull  down  that 
bonus.  Take  just  about  a  thousand  dollars  to 
put  you  on  your  feet  again,  I  guess." 

"  Gee  whiz !    That's  a  lot  of  money,  ain't  it?  " 
"  Uh-huh !    Now  lie  quiet  till  I  get  supper." 
The  boy  flattened  out  obediently.     Then: 
"  Dad,  what  does  '  toolie-woolie '  mean?  " 
Down  went  the  glass  of  water  that  Big  Bill 
Kerrigan  was  carrying;  its  contents  raced  over 
the  floor.    He  strode  across  the  room  and  looked 
down  at  his  son. 

"  Where'd  you  hear  that?  "  he  demanded. 
The  boy  laid  a  small  finger  on  the  picture  in 
the  scrapbook.  "  See?  It's  right  in  front  of  your 
name."  He  spelled  out :  "  T-o-o-l-i-e-w-o-o-l-i-e." 
Kerrigan  snatched  up  the  book  and  read  the 
caption.  Then  he  laid  the  volume  down,  forcing 
a  laugh. 

"  That's  just  a  name  the  boys  gave  me,"  he  ex- 
plained.    "  It  don't  mean  anything.     You  see, 


142       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

I'm  trying  hard  to  win  and — and  things  are  not 
just  breaking  right.'' 

The  boy  thought  a  moment.  "  I  am  little 
'  Toolie-woolie/  "  he  decided.  "  I  am  little  Too- 
lie-woolie  Kerrigan;  ain't  I,  Dad?  " 

"  Yes,  Son,"  answered  Bill,  ''  you  are  little 
Toolie-woolie,  sure  enough." 

Now  there  are  things  beyond  our  philosophy 
and  hence  beyond  our  power  to  express  in  the 
terms  of  the  dictionary.  A  man  boasts  that  he 
has  never  met  with  an  accident  in  his  life,  and 
the  next  day  he  is  in  bed  with  a  broken  leg,  and 
he  says :  "  I  should  have  knocked  on  wood."  An- 
other man  buys  a  famous  jewel  which  has  a  tra- 
gic history,  and  when  his  wife  is  run  down  by  an 
automobile  he  says :  "  Of  course  the  thing  is  ab- 
surd." But  he  sells  the  jewel.  The  magician 
says :  "  Abracadabra !  "  or  "  Mumbo-jumbo !  " 
and  immediately  a  glass  of  water  becomes  a  white 
rabbit. 

Similarly  the  baseball  fan,  when  he  sees  his 
favorite  club  suffer  persistent  misfortune,  injury- 
after  injury,  and  finish  in  the  basement  year 
after  year,  despite  all  the  money  that  is  spent  for 
new  players  and  new  managers,  shakes  his  head 
and  looks  around  for  a  Jonah  to  throw  over- 
board. Thus  it  happens  that  every  so  often  in 
some  ball-park  where  the  situation  has  taxed 
human  comprehension,  there  is  a  certain  day  set 


KERRIGAN'S  KID  143 

apart  for  the  burial  of  "  Julius  Jinx,"  and  that 
mysterious  personage,  incased  in  a  coffin,  is  car- 
ried to  the  home  plate  in  the  presence  of  a  holi- 
day throng  and  incinerated  with  befitting  cere- 
monies. 

This  is  purely  a  conceit  of  fandom  and  is  not 
relished  by  the  ball-players  themselves.  The  men 
of  the  diamond  do  not  like  the  word  jinx ;  it  has 
a  sinister  sound.  They  recognize,  however,  bet- 
ter than  anybody  else,  that  there  is  a  factor  in 
baseball  which  is  often  beyond  their  control.  Or- 
dinarily, it  is  referred  to  as  "  the  breaks  of  the 
game,"  meaning  the  way  the  luck  goes.  But 
when  this  factor  transcends  the  ordinary  rules 
of  chance  and  deliberately  takes  issue  with  a 
hard-working  ball-club,  there  are  always  some 
men  on  a  team  who  will  cross  their  fingers  in 
the  seclusion  of  the  clubhouse  and  whisper 
knowingly:  "  Toolie-wooUe,"  or  "  Oofty  goof!  " 
After  all,  what  else  is  there  to  say? 

Toolie-woolie  Kerrigan  was  a  whale  of  a 
pitcher,  loose  of  muscle,  long  of  arm,  and  with  an 
easy  movement  that  belied  the  speed  which  was 
his  greatest  asset. 

Why  the  White  Sox  should  have  left  him  be- 
hind when  they  started  East  after  a  spring  train- 
ing-visit to  California  was  a  mystery  to  Coast 
League  fans,  the  only  possible  explanation  being 
that  the  Chicago  club  was  so  plentifully  supplied 


144       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

with  seasoned  right-handers,  that  it  became  nec- 
essary to  farm  out  even  such  promising  talent  as 
the  big  pitcher  from  Vancouver. 

At  all  events  Kerrigan  was  left  with  the 
Wolves,  in  exchange  for  Jimmy  Thompson,  a 
base-running  phenomenon,  and  the  big  pitcher 
speedily  became  the  main  support  of  a  club  that 
for  four  years  had  finished  in  the  basement. 

For  a  year,  he  was  Big  Bill  Kerrigan,  a  silent, 
morose  man,  a  good  deal  of  a  mystery  to  his  own 
team-mates,  but  an  idol  with  the  fans — a  win- 
ning pitcher  on  a  losing  ball-club. 

It  was  his  second  season  with  the  Wolves,  not 
long  after  he  had  demanded  and  obtained  a  con- 
tract calling  for  a  thousand  dollar  bonus  if  he 
won  twenty  games,  that  the  sobriquet  of  Toolie- 
w^oolie  appeared  as  a  prefix  to  his  name.  It  was 
whispered  first  in  the  clubhouse  by  Truck  Dar- 
row,  the  club's  first-string  catcher,  and  it  had  no 
reference  then  to  any  one  man  in  particular ;  but 
as  the  season  progressed  it  became  apparent  that 
the  Wolves,  for  one  reason  or  another,  could  not 
hit  behind  the  best  pitcher  on  the  circuit,  the 
thing  that  was  in  the  mind  of  every  man  in  the 
Coast  League  narrowed  down  until  it  rested 
squarely  on  the  broad  shoulders  of  Toolie-woolie 
Kerrigan. 

For  all  things  there  are  plausible  explanations. 
Had  a  psychologist,  for  example,  been  called  into 


KERRIGAN'S  KID  145 

consultation  his  verdict  no  doubt  would  have 
been  something  like  this: 

"  What  has  happened  is  very  simple.  You 
have  a  ball-club  that  finishes  one  season  and 
starts  the  next  very  badly.  The  fans  arrange  a 
Jinx  Day,  and  between  the  time  the  affair  is 
planned  and  the  day  it  is  carried  out,  the  team 
begins  winning.  But  you  have  advertised  the 
Jinx  Day,  and  a  large  crowd  is  on  hand;  so  you 
decide  to  go  ahead.  The  program  is  poorly 
planned.  The  casket  should  have  been  of  card- 
board which  w^ould  have  burned  quickly,  and 
the  band  should  have  played  more  jazz  and  less 
dirges. 

"  You  should  have  made  the  fans  themselves 
carry  the  coffin  instead  of  picking  out  ball-play- 
ers like  Strowbridge,  Prentiss,  McRae,  Yates, 
Cluff  and  the  other  man.  You  selected  the  very 
men  who  were  most  likely  to  re-act  to  a  gruesome 
suggestion. 

"  To  make  it  worse,  you  got  tired  watching  the 
thing  burn,  and  you  put  it  out  with  water,  and 
the  groundkeeper  carted  the  unconsumed  frag- 
ments of  the  casket  out,  leaving  the  skull  and 
cross-bones  facing  the  home  club's  bench. 

"  Don't  you  see  what  a  stupid  thing  it  all  was? 
You  visualized  a  thought  before  twenty  thousand 
people  and  then  burned  the  visualization,  leav- 
ing the  thought  itself  to  germinate  and  eventu- 


US       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

ally  bear  fruit.  Now  your  club  actually  is 
jinxed.'^ 

But  Big  Bill  Kerrigan  was  not  a  psychologist. 
He  knew  only  what  had  occurred  and  not  the 
underlying  reason  for  it,  and  he  was  keenly,  pain- 
fully aware  that  in  the  clubhouse  the  Wolves 
exchanged  significant  glances  as,  one  after  an- 
other, five  pall-bearers  who  had  figured  in  the 
mock  funeral  met  with  misfortune.  Kerrigan 
had  been  the  sixth  man. 

And  because  the  thing  admitted  of  argument, 
there  was  much  talk,  which  is  the  worst  thing 
possible  for  a  ball-club. 

Strowbridge,  an  outfielder  from  Little  Rock, 
was  the  first  to  suffer.  While  playing  his  first 
game  with  the  Wolves  on  Jinx  Day,  he  ran  into 
the  fence  head-on  in  the  sixth  inning,  chasing  a 
foul  ball,  and  crumpled  up  with  a  broken 
collar-bone.  He  was  carried  off  the  field  un- 
conscious. 

It  was  then  that  Truck  Harrow,  waiting  until 
all  the  others  had  got  into  their  street  clothes  and 
left  the  clubhouse,  approached  Peewee  Patter- 
son, and  raised  one  huge  paw  with  the  middle 
digit  fiexed  over  a  stubby  forefinger. 

"  Toolie-woolie,"  he  whispered.  "  The  old 
Oofty-goof!" 

"  Forget  it,"  admonished  the  little  second-base- 
man.    "  The  grounds  were  new  to  him,  and  he 


KERKIGAN'S  KID  147 

was  trying  to  get  off  to  a  good  start  with  the 
fans." 

But  Darrow  shook  his  head..  ''  There  was  a 
man  on  third,"  he  reminded,  "  and  only  one  out. 
If  he'd  caught  the  ball,  the  runner  would  have 
scored.  Why  should  a  man  go  after  a  ball  like 
that?  " 

"  Maybe  he  thought  there  were  two  gone." 

It  was  a  plausible  explanation.  Similarly, 
when  the  club  released  Prentiss  and  McRae, 
Sweeney  pointed  out  that  the  Wolves  never  had 
got  a  pitcher  from  St.  Louis  who  was  worth  any- 
thing, and  most  of  the  players  were  compelled 
to  admit  the  truth  of  the  observation. 

"  But,"  said  Darrow,  "  they  were  Number  Two 
and  Number  Three  on  the  right ;  why  didn^t  they 
get  fans  to  carry  that  coffin  instead  of  ball-play- 
ers?" 

The  question  was  not  intended  for  Kerrigan's 
ears,  but  from  the  shower-bath,  he  heard  it.  Also, 
he  was  among  those  present  when  Brick  McGov- 
ern,  manager  of  the  club,  stormed  into  the  office 
one  morning  while  the  team  was  sitting  around 
reading  the  daily  papers  and  waiting  for  the 
pay-checks  to  be  distributed. 

"  I  told  you  fellows  to  keep  away  from  that 
fly-trap  lunch-counter  at  Vernon,"  flared  McGov- 
ern.  "  Yates  and  Cluff  are  down  with  typhoid, 
serves  you  right  if  you  all  get  it.    The  very 


148       HEAKTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

day  after  we  left,  the  Health  Office  closed  the 
place.'' 

Out  of  the  corner  of  one  eye  Kerrigan  saw 
Truck  Darrow  look  at  Patterson  and  hold  up 
first  four  fingers,  and  then  five,  before  resuming 
his  perusal  of  the  sporting  page.  In  the  silence 
that  followed,  the  pitcher  sensed  what  was  in  the 
minds  of  every  one,  except  possibly  McGovern. 
They  were  wondering  whether  the  sixth  pall- 
bearer, still  in  their  midst,  would  succumb 
quickly  to  the  cycle  of  misfortune,  or  whether  he 
would  stubbornly  fight  and  compel  the  whole 
club  to  continue  under  the  influence  of  the 
"  Oofty-goof .'' 

Kerrigan  merely  tightened  his  belt  and  his 
lips  and  set  himself  to  fight  the  thing  out.  It 
was  late  in  June  that  he  first  became  aware  that 
the  Wolves  were  not  hitting  behind  him  as  well 
as  was  their  habit.  At  first  he  put  it  down  to 
the  fact  that  he  was  invariably  pitted  against 
the  best  pitchers  on  opposing  clubs,  and  that  with 
the  coming  of  hot  weather,  twirlers  as  a  rule 
have  an  edge  on  the  batsmen.  He  discarded  both 
suggestions  in  the  face  of  the  obvious  fact  that 
the  club  hit  better  behind  every  other  man  on 
the  staff,  no  matter  who  was  opposing  them. 

Never  for  a  moment  did  he  harbor  the  thought 
that  his  team-mates  were  deliberately  lying  down 
on  him.    There  are  easier  ways  of  throwing  away 


KERRIGAN'S  KID  149 

a  game  than  failing  to  hit.  Batting  is  the  breath 
of  life  to  a  ball-player ;  his  "  average  '^  is  his 
bread  and  butter.  The  Wolves  hit  hard  behind 
Kerrigan,  but  either  at  the  wrong  time  or  into 
the  hands  of  the  fielders. 

For  a  while  he  did  what  any  other  man  would 
do  under  the  circumstances — pleaded  with  his 
team-mates  between  innings  to  come  to  life. 

"  Come  on,  boys,  stake  me  to  a  couple  of  runs, 
and  I'll  hold  'em.  You  hit  this  guy  all  over  the 
lot  last  week.    Stake  me  to  just  one  marker." 

But  when,  with  fourteen  victories  to  his  credit, 
the  Wolves  went  three  full  games,  twenty-seven 
innings  behind  him  without  scoring  a  run,  Ker- 
rigan accepted  the  inevitable,  and  sat  day  after 
day  in  the  dug-out,  staring  up  at  an  open  window 
that  overlooked  the  St.  Clair  ball  park.  If  the 
others  only  knew  it,  up  there,  behind  that  win- 
dow, was  really  the  sixth  victim. 

There  are  limits  to  what  a  ball-club  will  stand. 
Matters  came  to  a  head  in  the  last  game  of  a 
series  with  the  Portland  club.  For  once  it 
seemed  as  if  the  Goddess  of  Fortune  had  relented 
and  again  condescended  to  beam  upon  the 
Wolves.  But  the  fickle  jade,  it  developed,  was 
only  laughing. 

Kerrigan  was  pitching  his  usual  hard-luck 
game,  but  in  the  last  half  of  the  ninth  the  Wolves 
filled  the  bases,  with  no  one  out  and  only  two 


150       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

runs  necessary  to  win.  All  the  more  promising, 
it  was  Darrow's  turn  at  bat,  and  the  big  catcher 
was  a  deadly  man  in  the  pinches. 

He  dug  his  cleats  into  the  loose  soil  of  the  bat- 
ter's box,  and  with  the  count  on  him  standing 
"  one  and  two,"  flashed  the  signal  that  he  would 
hit  the  next  ball.  The  runners  got  into  stride 
with  the  swing  of  the  pitcher's  arm,  and  were 
legging  it  halfway  down  the  base-lines  when 
Darrow's  bat  rang  full  and  true  against  the 
horse-hide.  A  white  bullet  shot  toward  left- 
field. 

Now,  the  luck  of  the  diamond  is  a  curious 
thing.  Six  inches  higher  or  to  either  side,  and 
the  drive  would  have  won  the  game.  But  the  ball 
went  to  one  target,  and  to  one  target  only — 
straight  into  the  gloved  hand  of  the  third  base- 
man, who  leaped  into  the  air  to  meet  it.  It  took 
but  a  moment  to  touch  third  and  snap  the  ball 
to  second,  completing  a  triple  play  that  ended 
the  contest. 

The  team  undressed  in  that  ominous  silence 
that  marks  a  ball-club  that  has  something  on  its 
mind.  One  after  another  they  straggled  into  the 
open  until  there  remained  only  a  heavy  shoul- 
dered figure  sitting  on  a  bench  and  plucking 
thoughtfully  at  a  worn-out  glove. 

Kerrigan  was  conscious  that  the  parting  of  the 
ways  had  come.    Five  days  later  he  found  him- 


KERRIGAN'S  KID  151 

self  facing  McGovern  across  a  table  in  the  ball- 
club's  of&ce. 

"  Bill,"  said  the  manager,  "  I'm  sorry,  but  I've 
got  to  let  you  go.  Maybe  a  change  of  uniform 
will  help  you ;  sometimes  it  works  out  that  way." 

Kerrigan  nodded. 

"  I've  tried  to  place  you  back  with  the  White 
Sox,  and  then  with  the  other  clubs  in  this  League, 
but  they  all  seem  willing  to  waive  on  you.  I 
don't  understand." 

"  It's  simple,"  said  the  pitcher ;  "  toolie-woo- 
lie." 

McGovern  sighed  and  tapped  the  desk.  "  I 
don't  believe  in  such  things.  Bill,  but  the  boys 
do ;  and  it's  bad,  very  bad.  I  could  make  a  deal 
for  you  in  the  bushes,  but  I  don't  like  to  do  that 
with  a  man  who's  been  on  the  square  with  me. 
I'm  going  to  make  you  a  free  agent,  and  you  can 
take  the  best  job  that's  open." 

Kerrigan  thanked  him.  *^  I  was  trying  hard 
to  win,  Brick." 

"  I  know  it.  Bill." 

"  I  wanted  the  bonus  for  a  purpose,"  pursued 
the  pitcher.    "  You  see — " 

He  hesitated  and  then  sealed  his  lips,  aware 
that  a  man  does  not  under  certain  circumstances 
capitalize  the  misfortunes  of  his  flesh  and  blood. 

"  I  suppose  you  had  some  special  reason,"  Mc- 
Govern commented.     "  A  thousand  bones  come 


152       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

in  handy  once  in  a  while;  I'd  like  to  have  seen 
you  win  it,  but  if  you  were  my  brother,  I  couldn't 
do  any  different." 

"  Sure,"  assented  Kerrigan ;  "  that's  baseball. 
It's  the  luck  of  the  game,  only  sometimes  it's — 
pretty  tough." 

He  rose  abruptly.  "  Good-by,  Brick,  and  I 
hope  you  win  the  flag." 

"  And  I  hope  you  catch  on  with  a  real  ball- 
club.  Bill,"  McGovern  echoed,  "  not  a  lot  of  damn 
fools.  Drop  me  a  line,  old-timer,  and  keep  your 
head  up ! " 

Kerrigan  walked  out  of  the  office  and  turned 
mechanically  to  the  left.  Halfway  to  his  flat  he 
stopped  and  retraced  his  steps,  then  repeated  the 
maneuver.  Finally  he  struck  off  in  the  direction 
of  his  doctor's  address.  Following  the  consulta- 
tion, he  walked  down-town  and  paused  in  front 
of  a  window  which  displayed  that  for  which  he 
was  looking.    He  entered  the  store. 

"  I  want,"  he  told  the  man  behind  the  counter, 
"  a  pair  of  crutches." 

"  For  yourself?  " 

"  No,'.'  Kerrigan  replied,  "  for  a  little  boy." 

"  I  understand,"  nodded  the  man.  "I  have  two 
of  them  at  home  myself." 

Kerrigan  tucked  the  long  bundle  under  his 
arm  and  walked  slowly  home,  to  discover  his  son 
peering  out  the  window  through  the  glasses. 


KERRIGAN'S  KID  153 

"  Why,  Dad/'  Jimmy  exclaimed,  "  it's  Wednes- 
day, and  your  turn  to  work.  Did  you  get  a  day 
off?    Is  that  bundle  something  for  me?  " 

"  Yes,  Son,  I  got  a  day  off,  and  I  brought  you 
home  something."  He  sat  down  heavily  by  the 
bed  and  took  a  small  hand  in  his  own,  fingering 
it  tenderly. 

"  You  poor  little  Toolie-woolie,"  he  crooned, 
"  you  been  rooting  mighty  hard  for  your  old  Dad, 
haven't  you?  " 

a  We're  going  to  win,  too,"  nodded  the  boy ; 
"ain't  we?  We're  going  to  win  the  pennant. 
The  luck's  going  to  change;  you  said  it  always 
does." 

Kerrigan  took  the  plunge. 

"  Yes,  Son,  the  luck  is  going  to  change  some 
day — sure  enough ;  but — first,  you  and  I  have  to 
go  away  somewheres;  don't  know  just  where 
right  now,  but  I'm  going  to  send  out  some  tele- 
grams. You  see,  I  haven't  been  going  very  good, 
and  when  a  pitcher  don't  win  in  one  place,  he's 
got  to  go  somewhere  else." 

"  And  will  Truck  Darrow  and  Peewee  Patter- 
son and  the  rest  of  the  Wolves  go  along  too,  Dad? 
I  like  the  Wolves;  I  can  tell  every  one  of  them 
by  sight." 

Kerrigan's  lips  twitched.  "  I'm  afraid  we  got 
to  go  alone.  Son ;  it's  the  luck  of  the  game ;  we've 
got  to  join  some  other  club." 


154       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

While  the  boy  watched,  wide-eyed,  Kerrigan 
unfastened  the  weights  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  and 
then  unwrapped  the  bundle  he  had  brought. 

"Am  I  going  back  to  my  crutches.  Dad?" 
Jimmy  asked.  "  I  thought  I  wasn't  to  do  that  till 
I  went  to  the  hospital,  till  the  big  league  Doc' 
came?  " 

Kerrigan  sighed.  The  situation  was  beyond 
him.  "  We  need  a  little  more  money.  Son.  I  was 
counting  on  that  bonus,  and  now  I'm  not  going 
to  get  it.  We  got  to  make  a  start  all  over,  and 
meanwhile  the  Doc',  our  old  Doc',  says  it  won't 
hurt  you  to  move  around  a  little  on  crutches 
again,  so  long  as  you  don't  disturb  the  splints. 
When  we  get  to  where  we're  going,  you  can  go 
back  to  bed,  and  maybe  we  can  still  get  that  big 
leaguer.  Swing  around  now  easy,  and  I'll  put 
your  clothes  on." 

When  this  operation  was  completed,  and  one 
leg  of  the  small  trousers  fastened  over  the  splints 
with  safety  pins,  Jimmy  Kerrigan  swayed  pre- 
cariously across  the  room  on  the  crutches. 

"  I  feel  kind  o'  funny,"  he  announced,  "  I  guess 
it's  from  being  in  bed  so  long.  I  guess  I  better 
practise  a  bit.  Are  we  going  away  in  a  train, 
Dad?  " 

"  I  think  so.  Son ;  I'll  know  when  I  come  back. 
I'm  going  out  to  send  some  telegrams.  You  bet- 
ter get  back  on  the  bed  now  and  rest  before  you 


KERRIGAN'S  KID  155 

do  any  more.  I'll  tell  Mrs.  Ruether  to  look  in 
on  you.  All  you  got  to  do  is  to  rap  on  the  floor 
if  you  need  anything." 

"  I'll  be  careful,  Dad.  I'll  keep  right  here  by 
the  window.  It's  the  third  inning,  and  the  Tigers 
are  ahead.  Gee,  whiz!  there's  Truck  at  the  bat 
now.  He  most  always  hits  it  this  way,  don'lb 
he?" 

"If  they  feed  him  one  on  the  inside,"  agreed 
Kerrigan.  "  Yep,  there  it  goes !  Two  bases, 
Truck!    Hit  the  dirt!" 

Far  below  them  a  figure  flashed  into  second 
and  arose  in  a  puff  of  dust.  Kerrigan  drew  a 
deep  breath. 

"  Well,  I  got  to  be  going,  Son.  You  ain't  blam- 
ing your  dad  for  not  winning  more  games,  are 
you,  kid?  " 

The  boy  shook  his  head  and  smiled.  Then  once 
more  he  looked  out  the  window.  Kerrigan  closed 
the  door  softly. 

Mrs.  Ruether  puffed  up  the  stairs  twice.  On 
the  last  occasion  the  boy  was  standing  on  his 
crutches  by  the  window,  absorbed  in  the  ninth- 
inning  tussle,  going  on  out  there. 

"  I'm  running  down  to  the  corner  after  some 
potatoes,  Jimmy,"  she  announced ;  "  I  won't  be 
gone  long." 

He  did  not  so  much  as  turn  his  head.  Peewee 
Patterson  was  at  bat,  with  three  and  two  on 


156       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

him,  and  there  were  two  out.  The  infielder 
fanned.  Down  below  Jimmy  Kerrigan's  window 
the  bleacher  gates  swung  wide,  and  the  crowd 
debouched  into  the  street. 

The  boy  sighed.  He  would  like  to  have  seen 
the  Wolves  win,  even  though  his  father  was  not 
pitching.  He  would  like  to  have  been  able  to 
think  of  them  always  as  winning.  He  looked 
down  at  the  big  green  pond,  now  cleared  of  its 
gray,  skimming  water -bugs.  His  father  had  said 
they  were  going  away.  He  would  not  see  the 
Wolves  for  a  long  time,  he  might  never  see  them 
again. 

With  a  sick  child's  imagination,  he  had  en- 
dowed each  man  on  the  St.  Clair  ball  club  with 
heroic  qualities.  He  knew  just  what  he  would 
say  to  each  of  them  when  he  was  able  to  go  down 
and  be  introduced.  He  had  rehearsed  it  all  many 
times.  And  now  he  would  never  meet  them ;  he 
would  not  be  able  to  even  say  good-by. 

He  pondered  over  this  subversion  of  the  natu- 
ral order  of  things,  until,  out  of  his  meditations 
grew  an  idea  so  daring  that  it  almost  swept  his 
breath  away.  He  took  a  firmer  hold  on  his 
crutches  and  leaned  out  the  window,  the  better 
to  study  the  situation.  A  steep,  spiral  stairway 
descended  from  the  back  porch  to  the  yard  be- 
low, where  a  gate  opened  into  the  street.  Thence 
it  was  only  a  matter  of  fifty  feet  to  the  bleacher 


KERRIGAN'S  KID  157 

entrance  to  the  park.  The  place  was  empty  save 
for  the  ground-keeper  and  a  score  of  small  boys 
who  were  collecting  cushions  and  pop-bottles  in 
the  grandstand.  The  players  were  in  the  club- 
house. 

Thumping  across  the  room,  Jimmy  paused  at 
the  door  and  listened.  No  sound  came  from  the 
hall  or  from  below.  Cautiously  he  made  his  way 
to  the  back  porch,  and  clinging  with  one  hand  to 
the  wooden  railing,  began  a  laborious  descent. 
It  took  him  so  long  that  when  at  length  he 
reached  the  bottom,  he  was  fearful  that  his  father 
or  Mrs.  Ruether  might  have  returned,  and  that 
he  would  be  intercepted  before  he  could  attain 
his  mission.  Therefore  he  made  as  much  haste 
as  he  could,  hunching  forward  through  the  big 
gate,  and  along  the  turf  of  the  outfield. 

He  was  halfway  to  the  ramshackle  clubhouse 
when  the  reaction  came  and  he  paused  to  look 
back  dizzily.  Gradually  the  high  fence  ceased 
to  revolve,  and  earth  and  sky  assumed  their  nor- 
mal positions.  At  which  moment  Truck  Darrow, 
half-clad,  appeared  in  the  doorway  and  descended 
to  hang  a  damp  undershirt  on  the  clothes-line. 
The  sight  of  one  of  his  heroes  gave  Jimmy 
renewed  courage.  He  set  his  small  teeth  firmly 
together  and  began  to  count  as  he  swung  his 
crutches  forward. 

Three  times  he  counted  up   to   twenty  and 


158       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

started  over  again,  when  he  heard  a  voice,  that 
seemed  to  come  from  ever  so  far  away,  call : 

"  Here  you  are,  kid;  you  want  a  ball?  " 

Jimmy  looked  up  to  find  himself  within  hand- 
shake distance  of  his  favorite.  Once  more  the 
world  turned  into  a  topsy-turvy,  green  bowl. 
He  pulled  himself  together  and  forced  the 
speech: 

"  I'm  little  Toolie-woolie  Kerrigan,"  he  gasped, 
"  I've  come  to  say  good-by,  and  I  wish  you — " 

He  toppled  gently  forward  into  the  catcher's 
arms. 

Of  what  followed,  Jimmy  Kerrigan  remem- 
bered nothing.  He  was  unaware  that  Truck  Har- 
row picked  him  up,  crutches  and  all,  and  car- 
ried him  into  the  clubhouse ;  that  the  Wolves,  not 
knowing  that  Kerrigan  was  a  father,  swarmed 
helplessly  around  Big  Bill's  miniature  until  old 
Mrs.  Ruether,  bare-headed  and  wringing  her 
hands,  hurried  into  their  midst  with  a  story  that 
set  them  to  jabbering  worse  than  ever.  Nor  did 
the  boy  know  that  Brick  McGovern  himself  car- 
ried him  home  and  called  two  doctors,  and  then 
met  Bill  Kerrigan  hurrying  up  the  stairs  and 
called  the  big  pitcher  some  most  extraordinary 
names.  Also  he  was  blissfully  ignorant  that  Mc- 
Govern went  back  to  the  clubhouse  and  closed 
the  door  on  the  entire  team,  and  that  in  the  con- 
ference that  followed.  Truck  Harrow  pointed  out 


KERRIGAN'S  KID  159 

that  he  had  two  children  of  his  own  at  home,  and 
that  if  any  man  thought  that  he,  Darrow,  was 
going  to  run  a  crippled  kid  out  of  the  league,  let 
that  man  step  out  into  the  middle  of  the  room 
and  he'd  show  him. 

"  Oh,  to  hell  with  that  stuff,"  was  Rube  Fer- 
guson's terse  comment.  "  We  all  run  his  old  man 
off  the  club,  and  you  know  it.  Now,  what  are 
we  going  to  do  about  it?  " 

It  was  little  Peewee  Patterson,  whose  batting 
average  for, the  season  was  only  two  points  over 
his  own  weight,  who  picked  up  a  bat  and  weigh- 
ing it  thoughtfully,  solved  the  riddle  by  remark- 
ing :  "  Something  tells  me  there  is  a  hit  left  in 
this  stick.  Send  Big  Bill  into  work  to-morrow, 
and  let  the  kid  watch  from  the  window.  We've 
bucked  this  thing  long  enough;  now  let's  try  it 
the  other  way." 

As  it  was,  when  Jimmy  Kerrigan  opened  his 
eyes,  his  father  and  Dunlap,  the  club  physician, 
were  bending  over  him. 

"  I  don't  think  any  more  damage  has  been 
done,"  Dunlap  was  saying.  "  But  how  in  the 
name  of  Adam  could  he  get  that  far  with  those 
splints  on  him?  By  all  means  let  Courtier  look 
at  him  when  he  comes.  It  is  a  badly  comminuted 
fracture  of  the  femur,  and  nothing  but  a  bone 
graft,  a  very  wonderful  bone  graft,  can  save  the 
limb.    I  remember  now,  Hinsdale  was  telling  me 


160       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

of  the  case.  Hello,  sonny,  had  a  good  sleep,  didn't 
you:  " 

"  Was  I  sleeping? ''  Jimmy  Kerrigan  frowned. 
"  Gee  whiz,  Dad,  I  had  a  funny  dream !  Seems 
like  I  was  saying  good-by  to  Truck  Darrow  and 
wishing  him  good  luck ;  and  then,  I  guess,  I  woke 
up.    Ain't  we  going  away,  after  all?" 

Mrs.  Ruether  knocked  on  the  door,  at  that  mo- 
ment. "  Mr.  Boland  is  on  the  'phone,"  she  an- 
nounced, "  and  wants  to  know  how  Jimmy  is  get- 
ting along." 

"  I'll  speak  to  him,"  said  Kerrigan. 

He  was  back  again  a  few  minutes  later,  to  put 
long  arms  around  his  boy. 

"  You  weren't  dreaming,  Son,"  he  said,  "  you 
did  say  good-by  to  Truck,  sure  enough,  but  we 
may  not  go  away  for  a  little  while  longer.  I'm 
going  to  work  to-morrow ;  we're  all  going  to  work 
to-morrow.    Feeling  all  right?  " 

Jimmy  nodded  drowsily. 

Peewee  Patterson  got  his  hit.  It  came  when 
the  shadows  were  deep  over  the  outfield  in  the 
last  half  of  the  fifteenth  inning,  after  the  Wolves 
and  Tigers  had  been  battling  unavailingly  for 
almost  three  hours.  It  w^as  the  scratchiest  sort 
of  a  hit,  a  ball  that  bounded  badly  over  the  key- 
stone, eluding  Walsh  at  second;  and  it  scored 
Ferguson  with  the  only  run  of  the  game.  And 
because  it  was  a  fluke  hit,  Peewee  Patterson  gath- 


i^^'iiL. 


KERRIGAN'S  KID  161 

ered  his  tired  team-mates  around  him  in  the  club- 
house and  loudly  demanded : 

"  Do  I  know  something,  or  don't  I?  Pitch  Big 
Bill  three  times  a  week,  and  keep  little  Toolie- 
woolie  in  the  window.     The  luck's  turned ! " 

The  following  day,  when  the  team  was  dress- 
ing for  the  game.  Slim  O'Connor,  the  first  base- 
man, stamped  over  the  littered  floor  in  his  un- 
derwear with  murder  in  his  eye.  "  My  shirt," 
he  raved,  "  my  red  undershirt — some  guy  swiped 
it!  I  wore  it  yesterday,  and  I  hung  it  right  on 
that  hook.  What  son  of  a  skull — "  He  stopped 
as  he  discovered  the  missing  article  under  a  pile 
of  bath-towels,  and  calmed  down. 

McGovern  grinned,  aware  that  every  man  on 
his  club  was  dressing  exactly  as  he  had  done  the 
day  before,  as  is  the  custom  of  a  team  which  de- 
sires to  encourage  the  God  of  Things  As  They 
Should  Be. 

For  a  while  the  Wolves  picked  up  amazingly, 
climbing  to  the  top  of  the  second  division;  then 
they  faltered,  for  Kerrigan  won  his  twentieth 
game,  and  took  the  night  train  out  of  Los  An- 
geles, and  every  man  on  the  team  knew  that  little 
Toolie-woolie,  who  had  come  to  say  good-by,  was 
going  under  the  knife  and  it  was  a  matter  of 
doubt  whether  the  old  "  Oofty-goof  "  was  finally 
driven  off  or  not. 


162       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

In  all  truth,  the  Wolves  were  afraid,  not  for 
themselves,  but  for  some  one  else;  and  that  is 
"  the  most  soul-satisfying  fear  on  earth.'' 

They  were  nearly  all  married  men,  and  yet 
children  at  heart,  as  most  ball-players  ever  re- 
main; little  Toolie-woolie  Kerrigan  had  touched 
them  to  the  quick. 

Rumors  came  down  from  San  Francisco — how 
no  one  knew — and  they  were  passed  from  mouth 
to  mouth  on  the  bench,  then  out  to  the  coaching 
line:  The  operation  was  not  a  success.  They 
had  taken  little  Toolie-woolie's  leg  off.  The  kid 
was  dead.  .  .  . 

"  I  didn't  get  any  such  wire  at  all,"  McGovern 
denied.  *'  I'll  telephone  to  the  hospital  to-night. 
For  the  love  of  God,  play  ball !  " 

McGovern  rang  up  over  a  distance  of  four 
hundred  miles,  and  the  reply  he  received  from 
the  hospital  was  professionally  non-committal 
and  cautious.  The  patient  was  doing  as  well  as 
could  be  expected,  it  seemed.  It  was  too  early 
to  tell  anything  definite  as  yet. 

"  You  didn't  even  get  to  first,"  complained 
Truck  Darrow.  "  Why  the  hell  didn't  you  find 
out  whether  they  took  his  leg  off." 

But  the  next  day  there  came  a  telegram  from 
Big  Bill  which  set  their  minds  at  rest :    "  Opera- '. 
tion  complete  success.     Jimmy  sends  regards." 


KERRIGAN'S  KID  163 

That  afternoon  the  Wolves  shut  out  the  league- 
leaders  by  a  score  of  seven  to  nothing. 

Truck  Darrow  was  on  third  with  one  out  when 
the  Tiger  rightfielder  loped  forward  and  took  a 
short  fly  not  fifty  feet  back  of  first.  The  out- 
fielder looked  at  the  runner  hugging  his  bag,  and 
tossed  the  ball  to  the  pitcher.  And  what  did 
heayy-hoofed,  slow-thinking  Truck  Darrow  do? 
Oh,  nothing — only  note  the  careless  swing  of  the 
fielder's  arm,  and  lower  his  head  like  a  Durham 
bull  and  charge  for  the  plate.  And  with  the  aid 
of  all  the  angels  and  a  high  throw,  he  made  it ! 

Ham  Dolan,  in  left,  hurdled  the  railing  twice 
and  took  two  foul  balls  off  the  first  step  of  the 
bleachers,  something  that  no  one  had  ever  seen 
done  before. 

And  Peewee  Patterson,  confronted  with  a 
throw  that  was  impossible  to  field  cleanly,  put 
his  one  hundred  and  thirty-one  pounds  in  the 
path  of  Digger  Grimes  and  pinned  the  runner  six 
inches  off  second,  while  he  pawed  for  the  ball, 
found  it  and  hammered  it  home  on  the  runner's 
ribs. 

Then  there  was  a  most  excellent  fist-fight,  but 
Ump  Munholland  stuck  to  his  decision,  for  um- 
pires are  only  human,  and  they  always  ride  with 
a  fighting  team. 

There  is  no  stopping  a  ball-club  once  it  begins 


164       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

to  play  over  its  head.  It  will  murder  the  best 
pitcher  that  ever  stepped  on  the  mound,  and  steal 
the  clothes  off  the  opposing  catcher.  The  game 
is  won  even  before  the  umpire  brushes  off  the 
plate,  and  both  teams  know  it.  It  is  merely  a 
question  of  the  size  of  the  score. 

Coast  league  history  records  how  the 
Wolves  broke  into  the  first  division  the  last  week 
in  August,  and  a  month  later  came  pounding 
down  the  home-stretch  on  the  heels  of  the  Tigers, 
with  the  fans  of  seven  cities  urging  them  on. 

But  history  omits  one  detail.  When  Big  Bill 
Kerrigan,  pitching  a  nervous  and  self-conscious 
game,  won  the  pennant  for  the  St.  Clair  club  by 
virtue  of  the  vicious  hitting  of  the  men  behind 
him,  the  Wolves  paused  in  their  triumphant  rush 
to  the  clubhouse  to  gather  under  a  window  that 
overlooked  the  left-field  bleachers.  At  that  win- 
dow Jimmy  Kerrigan,  now  able  to  sit  propped  up 
on  his  pillows,  waved  both  small  arms  in  ac- 
knowledgment of  their  cheers  and  asked  them  to 
come  up,  an  invitation  which  they  accepted,  to 
the  last  man. 

For  all  things  there  are  explanations.  Spike 
Norton,  baseball  analyst  for  the  Tiger  follow- 
ing, went  to  some  pains  to  interview  a  University 
of  California  professor,  who  said  among  other 
things : 

"  There  is  a  law  of  average  that  underlies  all 


KERRIGAN'S  KID  165 

games  of  chance.  This  law  operates  on  the  prin- 
ciple of  a  pendulum,  which  having  swung  so  far 
in  one  direction,  must  eventually  swing  just  as 
far  the  other.  The  Wolves,  having  suffered  from 
a  long  series  of  misfortunes,  experienced  a  cor- 
responding run  of  luck,  demonstrating  an  inter- 
esting scientific  principle.'' 

"  Well,  mebbe  so,"  commented  Truck  Darrow, 
"  and  mebbe  not ;  anyway.  Big  Bill  pitches  for  us 
next  season,  and  little  Toolie-woolie  is  the  bat 
boy,  or  I  jump  the  club ! '' 


THE  SPEED  PILL 

THE  practised  eye  of  "Brick"  McGovem 
discerned  the  trouble  long  before  the  base- 
ball writers  began  to  ask  one  another: 
*' What's  the  matter  with  the  Wolves?  "  Night 
after  night,  the  veteran  manager  of  the  cham- 
pions remained  in  the  clubhouse  after  the  others 
had  dressed  and  departed. 

In  the  semidarkness,  observed  only  by  "  Pebble 
Pop ''  Connelly,  the  ground-keeper,  and  by 
"  Blinker  ''  Burke,  club  trainer,  McGovern  strove 
to  come  to  some  conclusion.  His  sound  baseball 
judgment  said  to  him :  "  Scrap  the  club  now 
and  build  again  from  the  bottom  with  young 
blood.''  His  heart,  beating  in  sympathy  for 
the  men  who  had  made  his  name  synonymous 
with  baseball  success,  whispered  to  him: 
"  Stand  by  your  friends !  Luck  may  pull  you 
through." 

For  the  Wolves  were  slowing  up !  They  were 
hitting  and  fielding  as  superbly  as  ever,  but  on 
the  bases  they  were  being  nipped  by  a  stride 
where  in  former  years  they  would  have  made  it. 
That  one  stride,  day  after  day,  even  when  the  hot 
weather  came  and  stiffened  muscles  began  to 

166 


THE  SPEED  PILL  167 

loosen,  told  the  story  to  the  sorrel-topped  man- 
ager watching  silently  from  the  bench.  In  vain 
he  waited  for  Cunningham,  Travers,  and  Walsh 
to  make  up  that  lost  stride.  Never  again  in  this 
world  would  these  wonderful  ball  players  regain 
that  one  step.  It  was  gone  forever  with  their 
youth.  The  time-old  tragedy  of  the  diamond  was 
being  enacted  before  an  unwilling  ^^  master  of  the 
show." 

Better  men  than  Brick  McGovern  have  faced 
the  same  struggle.  Some  have  seen  their  duty, 
wrecked  their  club  before  even  the  fans  had  seen 
that  it  was  weakening,  and  thus  brought  upon 
their  heads  the  wrath  of  press  and  populace. 
Time,  however,  justified  their  judgment.  Others, 
recalling  the  wives  and  children  of  the  men  who 
counted  them  a  loyal  friend,  have  clung  grimly 
to  their  veterans  and  gone  down  into  the  ruck 
with  them,  struggling  loyally  in  their  defense  to 
the  last. 

Torn  between  the  love  for  his  men  and  the  love 
for  a  winning  ball  club,  a  club  that  might  realize 
for  him  what  no  manager  in  baseball  had  yet 
achieved — a  fourth  straight  pennant — Brick  Mc- 
Govern laid  the  whole  matter  before  Senator 
Frank  Lathrop,  the  owner  of  the  club. 

"  It's  a  gambler's  chance,  and  I  want  to  take 
it,  senator,"  the  manager  implored.  "  Maybe  I 
should  bust  the  club  wide  open^but  I  can't.    I 


w 


±68       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

just  can't.  Ain't  I  a  veteran  myself?  Don't  I 
owe  everything  to  these  same  boys?  " 

Senator  Lathrop  drummed  thoughtfully  on  his 
desk,  "  Brick,  sentiment  has  no  place  in  busi- 
ness, and  for  me  baseball  is  a  business." 

"  I  know,"  McGovern  replied  wearily ;  "  for 
you  it's  a  business,  and  for  me  it's  a  sport,  and 
I'm  pleading  for  a  sporting  chance." 

"You  want — " 

"A  speed  pill,  senator,"  McGovern  broke  in; 
"  one  young  outfielder  who  can  travel  those  bags 
faster  than  the  Coast  League  has  ever  seen.  Get 
me  a  real  base  runner  who  can  lead  off  and  go 
from  first  to  third  on  a  hit  to  right,  and  I'll 
bench  Dawson  and  take  a  chance  on  the  others." 

"  Where  am  I  going  to  get  this  phenom?  " 

McGovern  tossed  over  a  piece  of  paper  on 
which  were  written  a  number  of  names.  "  Any 
of  these  men  may  do,"  he  replied ;  "  it  will  take  a 
heap  of  money  to  pry  them  loose  from  the  majors 
even  on  option  but  it  will  be  cheaper  in  the  long 
run  than  building  up  a  new  club." 

The  club  owner  nodded.  "  Money's  no  object, 
Brick,"  he  said;  "what  I  want  is  that  fourth 
pennant.  Hadn't  we  better  get  a  shortstop  and 
two  more  pitchers?  " 

"No!  "  The  Wolf  Pilot  snapped  out  his  re- 
ply aggressively.  "  I'll  put  just  one  man  on  the 
bench  and  no  more.    The  club's  all  right.    You 


THE  SPEED  PILL  169 

get  me  a  speed  pill,  and  I'll  get  the  fourth  flag. 
Do  you  think  I  don't  want  it,  too?  " 

During  the  next  two  weeks,  owner  and  man- 
ager strove,  each  in  his  own  way,  to  attain  the 
same  end — to  check  the  downward  flight  of  the 
champions.  Neither  was  successful.  McGov- 
ern  ran  into  raw,  cold  weather  on  the  road  in 
the  Northwest ;  weather  that  the  Wolves  detested. 
The  team  did  its  best,  and  was  lucky  to  break 
even  with  clubs  that  were  also  in  the  second  divi- 
sion. 

As  for  Senator  Lathrop,  the  telegrams  that 
poured  into  his  office  from  major-league  man- 
agers were  all  of  the  same  tenor.  If  there  was 
one  thing  more  than  another  that  every  club 
needed  at  that  moment,  it  was  a  fast  young  out- 
fielder. They  offered  the  Wolves  pitchers,  catch- 
ers, pinch  hitters,  first  basemen^anything  but 
the  type  of  player  that  was  needed. 

The  lines  of  worry  about  McGovern's  blue  eyes 
deepened.  He  shrank  from  the  players  and  news- 
paper men  more  and  more.  His  temper,  never 
of  the  best,  developed  into  an  open  sore  upon 
which  every  close  defeat  acted  like  vitriol. 

Then,  out  of  a  clear  sky  one  early  August  aft- 
ernoon, there  dropped  into  the  Wolf  ball  park 
Clyde  Brennan,  of  Calgary,  Canada,  with  a  note 
from  Bart  Sanderson,  veteran  magnate  of  the 


17a       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

Twilight  League  and  hunting  pal  of  Brick  Mc- 
Govern. 

The  note  was  brief  and  to  the  point : 

Dear  Brick:  Our  club  is  on  the  rocks  and  dis- 
banded. I'm  sending  you  this  kid  in  return  for  the 
dog.  They're  both  winners.  Come  North  after  you 
grab  the  flag,  and  I'll  steer  you  to  the  biggest  moose 
in  Canada.    Yours, 

Bart. 

McGovem  kept  his  face  straight  until  he  was 
alone  wit^i  Senator  Lathrop.  Then  he  laughed 
for  the  first  time  in  a  month. 

"  Can  you  beat  it?  I  gave  Bart  a  hunting  pup, 
and  now  he  sends  me  a  busher.  Ain't  that  a  hot 
trade?    And  he's  an  outfielder  too." 

"What's  his  record?'^ 

McGovern  shrugged  carelessly.  "  They're  all 
Ty  Cobbs  in  the  Twilight  League,  and  Joe  Mc- 
Gees  everywhere  else.  If  the  kid  was  any  good 
at  all,  Sanderson  wouldn't  have  to  trade  him  for 
a  dog." 

Senator  Lathrop  made  no  reply.  He  was 
listening  to  the  voice  of  Clyde  Brennan  as  it 
came  to  him  through  the  half-open  door  of  the 
adjoining  office.  The  Calgary  recruit  was  ad- 
dressing McCarthy,  the  club  secretary — McCar- 
thy, the  most  confirmed  pessimist  in  baseball. 

"  Wait  until  I'm  in  there  a  couple  of  days," 


THE  SPEED  PILL  171 

Brennan  was  saying,  "  and  you'll  see  this  club 
come  out  of  its  slump.  Never  hit  less  than  .340 
in  my  life,  and  I  figure  I  ought  to  do  better  right 
along.  To-morrow  I'll  show  you  the  gold  bat 
and  the  Willie  Keeler  trophy  they  gave  me  just 
before  I  left.  Those  Calgary  merchants  are 
pips." 

President  Lathrop  smiled  ruefully.  Brick  Mc- 
Govern  sighed.  From  the  clubroom  that  flanked 
the  secretary's  office  on  the  opposite  side  came 
unmistakable  evidence  that  the  Wolves,  gathered 
there  for  the  usual  round  of  checkers  and  chat- 
ters that  precedes  a  game,  had  also  overheard 
Brennan's  monologue.  The  voice  of  Rube  Fer- 
guson rose  complainingly  in  the  familiar  train- 
ing-camp refrain : 

**0h,  a  busher  in  spring 
Is  a  wonderful  thing, 
But  where  will  he  be  in  the  faUf 
Back  pitching  hay 
At  a  dollar  a  day, 
Oh,  that's  where  he'll  be  in  the  fall!" 

The  Twilight  Leaguer  wheeled  quickly  and 
strode  to  the  entrance  of  the  reading-room. 
"  Hello,  fellows !  "  he  called  cheerfully.  "  Mind 
if  I  introduce  myself?  I'm  Brennan,  outfielder 
from  Calgary ;  going  to  help  you  fellows  clean  up 
another  flag!     Atta  way  to  talk,  eh?" 


172       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

He  stood  there,  confidently  expectant.  No  one 
moved.    No  one  looked  up. 

At  last,  Peewee  Patterson,  second  baseman, 
addressed  the  player  sitting  opposite  to  him: 
"  Pete,  what's  the  best  thing  to  do  with  a  goat?  " 

"  Cut  off  his  horns,"  came  the  answer,  "  and  if 
that  doesn't  keep  him  from  butting  in,  shoot 
him ! '' 

"  Thanks,"  returned  the  second  baseman 
gravely.  "  Fellows,  do  you  notice  anything  goaty 
about  the  atmosphere?  "  Every  man  elevated 
his  head  like  a  hunting  dog  sniffing  suspiciously. 

"  No  doubt  about  it !  "  asserted  Truck  Darrow, 
the  catcher.  "  There  is  a  goat  somewhere  to 
windward.    Pop  must  have  left  the  gate  open." 

A  dull  red  suffused  the  face  of  the  youth  in 
the  doorway.  He  opened  his  lips  twice  to  make 
rejoinder,  but  apparently  he  could  think  of  noth- 
ing sufficiently  cutting.  He  turned  away,  fol- 
lowed by  a  chorus  of  derisive  bleats. 

The  manager  of  the  Wolves  turned  despon- 
dently to  his  superior.  "  Didn't  I  tell  you,  sena- 
tor? He's  a  Joe  McGee.  I  wish  I  had  my  dog 
back." 

If  the  youth  from  the  North  anticipated  any 
more  favorable  reception  at  the  hands  of  the  fans 
than  he  had  received  from  his  team-mates,  he 
was  doomed  to  disappointment.  The  warm-up, 
prior  to  the  game,  had  not  been  in  progress  more 


THE  SPEED  PILL  173 

than  fifteen  minutes  before  the  fans  in  the  left- 
field  bleachers  were  deriding  the  youngster  with 
all  the  biting  sarcasm  and  crude  wit  peculiar  to 
bleacherites. 

The  youngster  was  nervous  and  anxious  to 
please.  His  natural  tendency  to  fidget  was  ag- 
gravated by  unfamiliarity  with  his  surroundings, 
the  fact  that  he  was  just  off  a  train,  and  the  fur- 
ther handicap  of  atmospheric  conditions  that 
were  peculiarly  hard  on  a  newcomer. 

The  Wolf  ball  park  had  a  notoriously  "  high 
sky.''  All  ball  players  know  what  that  means — 
rarefied  air,  against  which  the  ball  has  no  back- 
ground. It  is  the  most  difficult  sky  under  which 
to  judge  the  course  of  a  baseball.  The  youngster 
managed  to  catch  every  ball  in  practise,  but  only 
after  he  had  danced  around  in  circles  that  led 
the  bleacher  throngs  to  believe  he  was  showing 
off. 

«  Oh,  you  Tango  Kid !  "  they  yelled  at  him. 
"  Back  to  the  Twilight  League!  " 

When  Brennan  walked  in  to  the  bench  at  the 
call  of  play  and  found  that  he  was  not  in  the  aft- 
ernoon's line-up  he  showed  mild  surprise  not  un- 
mixed with  relief. 

As  the  game  progressed,  however,  the  young- 
ster's enthusiasm  returned,  and  he  bawled  advice 
from  the  bench  to  men  twice  his  age.  Several 
times  he  was  perilously  near  death  and  quite  ob- 


174       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

livious  of  the  fact.  The  Wolves  chose  to  ignore 
him  on  the  theory  that  Brick  McGovern  would 
attend  to  his  case. 

There  came  a  time  in  the  ninth  inning,  how- 
ever, when  "  Deacon "  Dawson,  veteran  right 
fielder,  conscious  of  the  young  recruit  sitting  on 
the  bench  ready  to  take  his  job,  forgot  his  cau- 
tion in  his  desire  to  prove  that  he  was  still  the 
brilliant  outfielder  who  had  won  so  many  games 
for  the  club.  Pursuing  a  foul  ball,  he  crashed 
into  the  low  right-field  railing  and  crumpled  up 
with  a  broken  leg. 

When  they  had  carried  him  off  the  field,  Mc- 
Govern came  back  to  the  Wolf  dugout  and  ran 
his  eyes  over  the  utility  men.  His  lips  tightened 
grimly  when  he  noted  Brennan.  The  Wolves 
were  leading  by  two  runs.  He  could  afford  to 
take  a  chance. 

"  Get  out  there.  Kid,"  he  said ;  "  youVe  had  a 
lot  to  say,  now  let's  see  what  you  can  do.'^ 

Almost  before  McGovern  was  through  talking, 
the  Tango  Kid  was  trotting  into  right  field  to 
make  his  d^but  as  a  player  in  the  Coast  League, 
and  the  umpire  was  giving  his  name  to  the  grand 
stand. 

The  accident  to  Dawson  appeared  to  unsettle 
Brown,  the  diminutive  southpaw,  who  was  in  the 
box  for  the  Wolves.    He  walked  two  men  in  rapid 


THE  SPEED  PILL  175 

succession ;  then  he  tightened  up  and  retired  the 
next  two  players  on  pop  flies  to  the  infleld.  The 
fifth  man,  Sweeney,  a  left  hander,  accepted  the 
first  pitched  ball,  and  drove  it  high  in  the  air 
into  Clyde  Brennan's  territory.  The  crowd  arose 
noisily  and  surged  toward  the  exits,  taking  it 
for  granted  that  the  ball  would  be  caught. 

Running  back  into  position  under  the  descend- 
ing ball,  the  Tango  Kid  discovered  suddenly  what 
the  sporting  writers  meant  when  they  said  that 
the  Wolves  had  the  worst  sun  field  in  the  country. 
A  dazzling  afternoon  sun  focused  its  rays  full 
on  the  outfielder's  upturned  face.  Unwarned 
and  unprotected  by  sun  glasses,  burned  cork,  or 
any  of  the  other  devices  employed  by  rival  play- 
ers in  that  scorching  field,  Brennan  "  lost ''  the 
ball  as  it  crossed  the  face  of  the  sun.  He  reeled 
blindly  back  with  his  arms  groping  in  the  air. 

Not  until  the  ball  was  a  few  feet  overhead  did 
he  see  it  through  the  mist  of  tears  that  welled 
into  his  tortured  eyes.  He  tried  gamely  to  turn 
his  body  into  position,  failed,  and  fell.  The  ball 
struck  his  head  a  glancing  blow  and  bounded 
toward  the  foul  lines,  with  the  center  fielder  in 
pursuit. 

Before  the  ball  had  been  recovered  and  re- 
turned to  the  infield,  the  three  runs  had  been 
scored  that  put  the  visiting  club  in  the  lead. 

McGovern's  team  tried  desperately  to  recover 


176       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

the  lost  advantage  in  the  last  half  of  the  ninth, 
but  the  game  ended  with  the  Wolves,  as  usual, 
beaten  by  a  single  run.  The  clownish  awkward- 
ness of  a  busher  had  robbed  them  of  a  victory 
that  was  almost  in  their  grasp. 

As  the  players  tramped  sullenly  toward  the 
clubhouse,  the  Tango  Kid  tried  once  or  twice  to 
explain  what  had  happened,  but  no  one  paid  any 
attention  to  him. 

Not  until  the  Wolves  had  gained  the  seclusion 
of  the  water-splashed  dressing  rooms  did  they 
proceed  to  divest  their  minds  of  certain  bur- 
dens. 

"  Sure  is  a  clever  goat ! "  commented  Park 
Slattery,  third  baseman.  "Never  butted  less 
than  .340  in  its  life,  and  does  all  its  butting  in 
the  outfield.'^ 

"  Not  having  any  brains,''  explained  another, 
"  it  don't  hurt  a  goat  none  to  use  its  head,  but 
it's  sure  tough  on  a  baseball.  That  pill  was  lop- 
sided when  Larry  picked  it  up." 

Truck  Darrow,  first-string  catcher,  stepped 
from  under  a  shower  bath  and  applied  a  towel 
to  his  Herculean  frame.  He  was  a  quiet,  serious- 
minded  giant  on  whom  the  long  succession  of 
defeats  rested  heavily.  An  idea  was  slowly  form- 
ing in  his  head,  an  idea  which  bloomed  into  ac- 
tion as  his  eyes  fell  upon  Clyde  Brennan's  scant- 
ily clad  figure  at  a  far  corner  of  the  room.    He 


THE  SPEED  PILL  177 

walked  soberly  over  to  the  Calgary  recruit,  gath- 
ered the  latter's  remaining  clothes  in  one  quick 
sweep  of  his  arms,  and  hurled  them  out  of  the 
open  window, 

"  Out !  "  he  commanded.  "  This  room  is  for 
men.    Get  out  before  I  kick  you  out ! " 

Brennan's  brown  eyes  suddenly  hardened. 
"  Hello,  papa !  "  he  said  lightly.  "  How's  the 
rheumatism?''  At  the  same  time,  his  right  fist 
shot  up  and  outward  and  came  in  swift  contact 
with  the  catcher's  jaw. 

In  a  flash  they  were  at  each  other  in  a  rough- 
and-tumble  m^l^e  such  as  all  baseball  clubhouses 
delight  in. 

The  Wolves  clambered  to  places  of  vantage, 
eager  to  witness  the  punishment  of  the  Tango 
Kid,  for  Darrow  was  rated  the  best  man  in  the 
Coast  League  when  it  came  either  to  using  his 
fists  or  blocking  a  runner  off  the  home  plate. 

Under  the  impetus  of  the  youngster's  attack, 
the  older  man  reeled  backward  on  the  defensive, 
but  in  a  few  minutes  the  scales  had  turned,  and 
the  huge  catcher  took  the  offensive,  his  superior 
weight  and  strength  enabling  him  to  close  with 
Brennan  and  send  the  latter  to  the  floor  three 
times  with  sledge-hammer  blows  to  the  body  and 
face.  Each  time,  the  youngster  was  back  like  a 
fox  terrier  seeking  an  opening  in  his  opponent's 
defense. 


178       HEABTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

When  he  went  down  again,  and  a  fourth  time 
staggered  to  his  feet — this  time  a  bit  slowly — 
Darrow  glanced  questioningly  at  his  team-mates, 
and  at  a  word  from  Brick  McGovern,  a  number 
of  players  stepped  between  the  fighters.  As  if 
recognizing  that  the  Tango  Kid's  gameness  was 
entitled  to  recognition,  the  pilot  of  the  Wolves 
himself  went  outside  and  brought  back  the  out- 
fielder's clothes. 

Supporting  himself  against  the  wall,  the 
Tango  Kid  spoke  thickly  between  crimsoned  lips : 
"  Some  little  reception  you  birds  hand  out  all  in 
one  day!  Now  you  listen  to  me!  When  I  get 
ready  to  move  out  of  this  old  ladies'  home,  it 
won't  be  because  you  run  me  out — it  will  be  be- 
cause the  majors  have  drafted  me.    Get  that?  " 

Darrow  elbowed  forward.  "  I'll  smear  you 
from  here  to  the  home  plate  if  you  don't  shut 
up !  "  he  promised. 

Brick  McGovern  interfered.  "  Easy,  Truck," 
he  said.    "  Let  the  Kid  alone." 

Brennan  donned  his  coat  painfully  and  left 
the  clubhouse,  striding  across  the  diamond  with 
an  attempt  at  dignity.  The  pilot  of  the  Wolves 
stepped  to  the  clubhouse  doorway  and  stood 
there,  staring  after  the  boy's  retreating  figure. 
McGovern's  face  reflected  deep  interest. 

The  days  after  the  Wolves  left  for  the  South 


THE  SPEED  PILL  179 

for  an  important  series  with  the  Angels,  Pop 
Connelly,  the  veteran  ground  keeper,  paused  in 
his  task  of  manicuring  the  grass  on  the  diamond, 
mopped  his  brow,  and  gazed  in  some  perplexity 
at  the  motionless  figure  of  a  man  standing  bolt 
upright  against  the  right-field  fence. 

"  'Tain't  a  ball  player,"  he  decided,  "  for  Mc- 
Govern  took  the  whole  gang.  Maybe  he's  look- 
ing for  a  job  on  the  grounds." 

x4s  Pop,  bent  on  investigation,  advanced  into 
right  field,  the  figure  resolved  itself  into  that  of 
a  young  man  who  held  his  hands  lightly  behind 
him  and  whose  face  was  turned  full  in  the  glare 
of  the  afternoon  sun.  Two  strips  of  court  plas- 
ter over  either  cheek  bone  held  open  the  quiver- 
ing eyelids.  Deep  lines  of  agony  wrinkled  the 
youngster's  forehead.  Tears  streamed  down 
mingling  with  beads  of  perspiration. 

The  ground  keeper  stared  aghast.  "  Good  God, 
boy,"  he  exclaimed,  "  are  you  crazy?  " 

The  youngster  lowered  his  gaze.  For  a  few 
seconds  it  was  evident  that  he  could  not  see  at 
all.  Gradually  his  eyes  focused  on  the  ground 
keeper's  rotund  frame.  "  Hello,  Pop !  "  he  re- 
turned. "  No,  I'm  not  crazy,  yet.  I'm  just  get- 
ting used  to  this  sunfield.  Some  day  I'm  going 
to  play  it." 

"  The  only  field  you'll  ever  play  if  you  keep 
that  stunt  up  will  be  in  the  Home  for  the  Blind," 


180       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

the  ground  keeper  told  him.  "  You  must  be  Bren- 
nan — of  the  Twilight  League." 

^'  How  did  you  guess?  " 

Pop  Connelly  laughed.  His  shrewd  gray  eyes 
peered  from  under  shaggy  brows  and  took  in  the 
youngster  in  one  swift  glance.  He  did  not  think 
it  necessary  to  say  that  Brick  McGovern  had  con- 
signed the  Calgary  outfielder  to  his  care  with 
very  explicit  instructions.  Pop,  too,  was  a  good 
judge  of  bushers. 

"  How  was  it,"  he  asked,  "  that  McGovern 
didn't  take  you  South?" 

The  Tango  Kid  flushed  and  dug  the  toe  of  one 
shoe  into  the  turf.  "  I  guess  the  chief  is  off  me," 
he  acknowledged  ruefully ;  "  that's  why  I'm  go- 
ing to  learn  this  sunfield  or  bust — ^but  it's  sure  a 
pip !  "  He  turned  his  eyes  skyward  again,  shad- 
ing them  with  one  hand. 

"  Cut  that  out !  "  admonished  Connelly  sharply. 
"  If  you  really  want  to  play  this  field,  let  me 
show  you  something."  He  led  the  way,  forty 
paces  forward  and  twenty  paces  from  the  right- 
field  foul  line. 

The  outfielder  then  saw  that  a  huge  advertis- 
ing sign  on  the  top  of  the  grand  stand  shut  off 
the  sun  from  a  square  of  the  outfield  about  ten 
feet  in  either  direction. 

"  Here's  where  you're  supposed  to  stand,  Kid," 
the  ground  keeper  said. 


h. 


THE  ^PEED  PILL  181 

"  What  about  a  short  fly  in  right  center?  " 

"  The  second  baseman  takes  it,  or  the  center 
fielder.  They  both  protect  you  after  the  seventh 
inning,  when  the  sun  is  particularly  bad." 

"  But  I've  got  to  leave  this  square  to  get  a  ball, 
and  then  the  sun's  as  bad  as  ever.  I  can't  stand 
in  the  shade  and  get  it."  The  outfielder's  tone 
was  lugubrious. 

"  You  judge  it  while  you're  in  the  shade.  You 
rest  your  eyes  while  you're  here.  You  go  out 
with  your  head  down,  legging  it  for  wherever  the 
ball  is  heading.  Then  when  you  look  up  into  the 
sun,  I'll  show  you  what  to  do." 

The  ground  keeper  vanished  in  the  direction 
of  the  clubhouse.  He  was  back  in  a  few  minutes 
with  the  green-striped  gray  cap  that  was  part  of 
the  Wolf  uniform.  Folded  back,  level  with  the 
visor  of  the  cap,  was  a  small  pair  of  smoked 
glasses,  so  arranged  that  a  flip  of  the  wearer's 
finger  would  drop  them  over  the  eyes. 

"Well,  I'll  be  darned!"  said  the  Twilight 
Leaguer.  "  I  guess  I'm  an  awful  busher,  all 
right!    I  never  knew  there  was  such  a  cap." 

"  There  wasn't,  until  I  invented  it,"  said  the 
ground  keeper  simply. 

The  Tango  Kid  stared.    "  You?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Me,"  answered  Connelly.  "  Twenty  years  I 
was  a  ball  player — ten  years  in  this  old  field. 
Twice  I  heard  the  sweetest  music  in  the  world." 


182       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

"World's  series  cash?"  The  younger  man 
put  the  question  in  an  awed  whisper. 

Connelly  shook  his  head.  "  I  was  never  in  the 
majors/'  he  said  sadly.  "  Me  and  Brick  McGov- 
ern  always  said  the  coast  was  good  enough  for  us. 
I  was  referring  to  the  two  times  the  Wolves  gave 
me  the  ^  good  hunting  howl.'  " 

"The  what?" 

"  Well,"  said  Connelly,  "  you'll  never  under- 
stand unless  some  day  you're  fortunate  enough 
to  hear  it.  But  the  Wolves  are  more  than  a  ball 
club;  they're  the  best — they've  always  been  the 
best — bunch  of  fellows  in  the  world.  They're 
men,  every  inch  of  them ;  and  when  they  give  you 
the  '  good  hunting  howl '  it  means  that  you're  a 
blood  brother  from  then  on,  and  they'll  lay  down 
their  lives  for  you.  But  you  have  to  earn  the 
honor.  You've  got  to  have  nerve  and  skill,  and 
you've  got  to  show  'em  both  in  the  pinch." 

Clyde  Brennan  put  a  hand  tenderly  to  his  swol- 
len lips.  "  Good  hunting,  eh?  "  he  repeated ;  "  I'll 
say  they're  hunters,  all  right.  What  was  it  you 
did  that  gave  you  the  free  concert?  Shall  we 
grab  a  seat  over  there  in  the  shade?  " 

That  was  the  introduction  to  a  chat  that  lasted 
all  afternoon ;  a  chat  that  sealed  a  bond  of  friend- 
ship between  a  hero  of  by -gone  days  and  a  busher 
who  had  butted  into  fast  company  and  been 
promptly  and  none  too  gently  ejected. 


THE  SPEED  PILL  183 

From  Brennan,  Pop  Connelly  learned  a  lot 
about  the  youngster's  nature  and  his  ambitions. 
From  the  ground  keeper,  the  Tango  Kid  learned 
a  lot  about  Brick  McGovern  and  his  Wolves. 

One  thing  in  particular  stuck  in  the  young- 
ster's mind.  Just  before  Pop  Connelly  gathered 
up  his  tools  preparatory  to  departure,  the  Cal- 
gary outfielder  turned  to  him  wistfully :  "  Pop, 
the  fellows  were  right  in  calling  me  a  goat.  I  did 
try  to  butt  in  just  like  I  belonged.  I  can  see  it 
now.  Do  you  think  if  I  make  the  club  and  it  was 
to  get  to  going  good,  we  could  grab  the  flag  with- 
out having  to  drop  any  one?  " 

"  Shouldn't  wonder,"  replied  Pop.  "  Vve  told 
you  what's  needed.  Brick  knows  it;  the  fans 
know  it  now ;  every  one  knows  it.  If  we  could  get 
a  lead-off  man  who  was  a  real  speed  pill,  some 
one  who  could  get  on  those  bags  and  turn  in  that 
missing  run,  we  might  turn  the  trick." 

The  Tango  Kid  took  a  deep  breath.  "  Pop,  I 
never  told  you,  but  that's  how  I  hit  .340  last 
summer — by  beating  out  infield  hits.  I  can  cover 
the  hundred  in  ten  flat."_ 

He  hesitated,  and  then  blurted :  "  Pop,  I  won- 
der if  you  would  mind  slipping  me  some  point- 
ers? You  do  a  little  fungo  hitting  for  me  in  the 
mornings,  and  I'll  mow  the  grass  for  you  in  the 
afternoons.  I  want  to  hear  that '  good  hunting ' 
stuff." 


184       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

Pop  Connelly's  rubicund  face  glowed  like  an 
electrolier.  "  Put  it  there,  boy !  '^  he  chortled. 
"  Just  between  you  and  me  you're  beginning  to 
talk  like  a  real  Wolf." 

It  was  two  days  later  that  Pop  buttonholed 
"  Blinker ''  Burke,  the  club  trainer,  and  insisted 
that  he  show  up  at  the  park  that  afternoon  with 
a  stop  watch.  He  knew  how  to  enlist  Blinker  s 
interest. 

"  It's  his  build,  Blinker — that's  what  I  want 
you  to  notice;  and  I  want  you  to  spot  the  way 
he  runs.  If  he  don't  remind  you  of  some  one  we 
both  used  to  know  in  the  old  days.  111  buy  the 
supper." 

Later  in  the  day,  the  two  veterans  watched  the 
Tango  Kid  work  out  in  company  with  the  usual 
group  of  hangers-on  who  congregate  about  a  ball 
park  when  the  home  club  is  on  the  road.  Under 
Pop's  direction,  the  young  outfielder  was  practis- 
ing "  getting  down  to  first."  Blinker  Burke, 
watch  in  hand,  stood  back  in  the  shadow  of  the 
grand  stand. 

"Well?"  asked  Pop. 

The  trainer's  eyes  glittered,  but  he  spoke 
quietly :  "  The  Kid  is  ^  Spike '  Duffy  all  over 
again — only  a  little  faster,  and  he  is  younger 
than  Spike  was  when  he  circled  the  bags  in  13.4 
Also  he  bats  from  the  left  side,  which  puts  him 


THE  SPEED  PILL  185 

a  step  nearer  first.  See,  can  you  teach  him  how- 
to  circle  first?" 

For  two  weeks,  morning  and  afternoon,  the 
Tango  Kid  worked  out  under  the  observation  and 
encouragement  of  Brick  McGovern's  two  pals. 
They  found  the  youngster  a  wdlling  pupil — 
though  after  the  first  week  there  was  little  more 
they  could  tell  him. 

He  knew  instinctively  how  to  get  away  from 
the  plate  as  a  sprinter  leaves  his  mark.  Pop 
Connelly  taught  him  how  to  bear  to  the  right 
just  far  enough  as  he  approached  first  base  to  cut 
across  the  inside  corner  in  full  stride — a  trick 
not  one  ball  player  in  fifty  ever  learns  to  master. 
From  the  same  authority  he  learned  how  to  cir- 
cle second  and  third  without  losing  ground,  and 
how  to  make  each  bag  act  as  a  springboard  under 
his  flying  spikes.  Blinker  Burke  showed  him 
how  to  slide  into  a  bag  with  his  left  leg  crooked 
under  him  so  that  he  rose  to  his  feet  instantly  as 
his  right  toe  hooked  the  base. 

"  Some  chaps/^  explained  the  trainer,  "  like 
to  brush  off  their  pants  and  borrow  a  chew  of 
tobacco  when  they  get  to  the  keystone,  but  a 
real  base  runner  has  one  eye  on  third  and  the 
other  on  the  coach  who's  waving  him  home.  Let's 
see  you  step  around  the  paths,while  I  hold  the 
watch  on  you." 

While  Pop  served  as  a  pitcher,  the  Tango  Kid 


186       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

stepped  up  to  the  plate,  swinging  a  short  chunky- 
bat.  He  tapped  the  first  pitched  ball  lightly- 
along  the  first-base  foul  lines  and  was  off  in  a 
flash. 

"  Full  stride  around  first !  "  yelled  the  ground 
keeper.  "  Don't  swing  so  wide !  That's  it !  Cut 
right  over  the  short-stop's  place — he'll  be  in  the 
outfield  calling  for  the  ball.  Now — the  coach  is 
waving  you  on — hit  third  hard — get  the  spring 
out  of  the  bag — spurt — ^spurt — now,  then — hit 
the  dirt — let  go  everything  and  jump  for  it — 
jump!  " 

Connelly's  voice  rose  to  a  scream.  Brennan's 
slim  body  flashed  over  the  home  plate  in  a  cloud 
of  dust.  Blinker  Burke  looked  at  his  watch  and 
then  at  the  Tango  Kid  and  his  coach  as  they  came 
sauntering  up. 

"  What  did  I  make  it  in?  "  the  outfielder  asked. 

The  trainer  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  know," 
he  grumbled;  "my  watch  stopped  on  me.  But 
you  swung  too  wide  coming  around  third,  and 
you  want  to  come  in  behind  the  catcher,  not  in 
front.    Make  him  turn  to  find  you." 

When  the  practise  was  over,  however,  and 
Clyde  Brennan  had  gone  to  the  clubhouse 
to  dress,  Burke  took  his  companion-at-arms 
aside  and  held  the  watch  before  Connelly's 
eyes. 


THE  SPEED  PILL  18T 

"  Look  at  that !  "  he  cried.  "  Look  at  it. 
Either  I've  forgotten  how  to  time  or  that  kid  tied 
the  world's  record !  " 

The  split-second  hand  stood  at  13.4. 

Pop  Connelly  whistled.  "  A  speed  pill,"  he 
said;  "just  a  natural-born  base  runner.  And 
he'll  do  for  a  lead-off  man,  too.  Did  you  notice 
how  he  waited  out  Bill  Patterson  when  the  lat- 
ter was  pitching  to  him  this  morning?  Never 
offered  at  a  bad  ball  once.  He  has  a  good  eye  and 
patience  and  speed.  Ain't  Brick  the  luckiest 
chap  in  the  world?  " 

"  The  luckiest  chap  in  the  world  "  at  that  mo- 
ment was  bemoaning  the  fact  that  three  outfield- 
ers, procured  one  after  the  other  to  fill  Deacon 
Dawson's  place,  were  all  failures  in  the  lead-off 
role.  Again  and  again  Mc Govern  shufiied  his 
batting  order  in  an  effort  to  get  men  on  base 
when  his  heavy  hitters  came  to  the  plate,  but  the 
Wolves  could  not  climb  out  of  the  second  divi- 
sion. Every  winning  streak  was  cut  short  by  a 
one-run  defeat. 

The  Wolves  had  been  on  the  road  for  two 
weeks,  when  their  leader  received  a  cryptic  tele- 
gram signed  jointly  by  Pop  Connelly  and  Burke. 
It  read: 


it 


Lead  off  with  Tango  Kid.    Will  burn  up  league.' 


188       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 
The  answer  came  back  that  night. 
''  Send  him/' 
McGovern  did  not  believe  in  wasting  words. 

It  was  a  noisy  and  hopeful  crowd  that  greeted 
the  Wolves  when  they  returned  from  their  road 
trip  to  face  a  crucial  series  with  the  Tigers,  who 
were  in  second  place  by  a  margin  of  four  games. 
McGovern's  club  had  apparently  started  its  long- 
delayed  pennant  drive.  Five  successive  victories 
had  pulled  the  Wolves  out  of  the  second  divi- 
sion and  landed  them  in  third  place.  There 
were  still  five  weeks  more  of  play  before  the  pen- 
nant could  be  decided. 

The  experts,  with  one  exception,  explained  that 
tighter  pitching  and  more  timely  hitting  were 
responsible  for  the  turn  in  the  tide  of  the  Wolves' 
fortunes.  "  Big  Bob  "  Purdue  and  Cy  Peterson, 
hitting  in  third  and  fourth  place,  were  driving  in 
the  additional  run  which  the  club  had  needed  so 
badly  all  season. 

The  one  scribe  who  differed  with  his  fellows 
was  "  Steve  '^  Fitzgerald  of  the  Chronicle^  and 
he,  singularly  enough,  was  a  close  friend  of  Mc- 
Govern, and  usually  a  reliable  writer.  Fitz- 
gerald said  that  the  club  was  not  hitting  any  bet- 
ter, but  that  the  new  lead-off  man  Clyde  Bren- 
nan — was  stealing  the  shoes  off  opposing  catch- 


m 


THE  SPEED  PILL  189 

ers  and  running  wild  on  the  bags.  Pandom,  re- 
calling the  Tango  Kid  and  his  d^but  in  the  Coast 
League,  laughed  at  the  Chronicle  and  concluded 
that  Brennan  was  in  right  field  only  because 
McGovern  could  find  no  one  else.  They  were 
willing,  however,  to  forgive  his  presence  if  the 
team  still  won. 

Pop  Connelly  got  a  few  words  with  the  Wolf 
leader  before  the  game.  "  The  Kid?  "  he  asked. 
"  How  is  he?  " 

"  Some  boy,  Pop !  "  McGovern  replied.  "  But 
he's  got  his  back  up;  he  won't  open  his 
mouth  to  any  of  us.  Look  at  him  now — sitting 
on  the  end  of  the  bench  as  proud  and  lonely 
as  a  setting  hen.  He  ought  to  forget  that 
stuff." 

The  ground  keeper  smiled  reminiscently.  "  I 
remember  when  you  and  I  were  bushers,  Brick, 
back  in  the  Three  I  League,  and  there  wasn't  a 
finer  pair  of  young  mules  in  baseball.  The  kid 
is  just  dying  to  be  taken  into  the  family,  but  you 
told  him  to  butt  out;  and  now,  you'll  have  to 
make  it  easy  for  him  to  come  in  without  using 
his  horns." 

McGovern  grinned.  "  I  got  you.  Pop !  Wait 
till  this  crowd  spots  Brennan  in  action,  and  you'll 
see  some  fun.    See  you  after  the  game." 

Connelly  turned  and  went  into  the  grand  stand, 
where  he  made  his  way  to  the  press  box.     The 


190       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

reporters  welcomed  him,  for  Pop  Connelly  was 
ever  a  source  of  anecdote  and  information,  and 
the  press  box  at  the  Wolf  park  was  not  the  ex- 
clusive spot  it  is  at  other  grounds  on  the  circuit. 
He  sat  there,  a  rotund  figure,  expectant  and 
happy  as  a  boy.  But  when  the  batteries  were 
announced  his  rosy  color  faded  slightly,  and  a 
worried  look  appeared. 

"  Lefty "  Harrison,  giant  southpaw  of  the 
Tigers,  was  the  man  nominated  to  stop  the  rush 
of  the  Wolves,  and  Harrison  was  rated  the  most 
effective  twirler  in  the  league.  There  are  some 
pitchers  who  for  one  reason  or  another,  in  the 
language  of  the  diamond,  "  have  the  number  "  of 
some  particular  club.  Such  was  the  case  with 
Harrison  and  the  Wolves.  They  had  not  beaten 
him  all  season,  nor  for  half  the  season  before 
that.  As  a  consequence,  his  team-mates  consid- 
ered him  invincible  against  McGovern's  club, 
while  the  Wolves  were  conscious  of  a  distinct 
handicap.  It  is  such  psychological  suggestions 
that  frequently  decide  ball  games. 

McGovern  sent  Collins  to  the  mound  against 
the  left  hander,  and  the  crowd  settled  back  for  a 
pitching  duel  supreme.  No  one  was  disap- 
pointed. Inning  after  inning  rolled  by  without  a 
score.  Twice  the  Wolf  infielders,  with  men  on 
third,  crept  into  the  grass  and  shut  off  the  run- 
ner at  the  plate.     Twice  the  Tiger  outfielders 


THE  SPEED  PILL  191 

raced  into  the  shadow  of  the  fence  and  pulled 
down  drives  that  were  ticketed  for  home 
runs. 

As  the  game  progressed,  both  pitchers  became 
steadier,  the  opposing  infields  more  alert,  the 
rival  managers  more  watchful  for  the  break  that 
was  sure  to  come.  But  the  great  score  board  in 
center  field  displayed  two  strings  of  ciphers  that 
grew  ever  longer.  News  of  the  contest  spread  to 
the  downtown  section,  and  many  a  business  man 
locked  his  office  early  and  appeared  at  the  park 
a  few  minutes  later. 

It  appeared  that  the  Wolves  might  do  the  un- 
expected in  the  fourth  inning  and  again  in  the 
ninth.  Each  time,  however,  with  men  on  base, 
Harrison  steadied  himself  and  retired  the  Wolves 
on  strikes. 

Meanwhile  Pop  Connelly  in  the  press  box, 
Brick  McGovern  on  the  side  line,  and  Blinker 
Burke  sitting  in  the  dugout,  waited  to  see  what 
would  happen  when  the  Tango  Kid  got  on  the 
bags  with  either  Peterson  or  Purdue  batting  be- 
hind him.  But  inning  after  inning  had  rolled 
around  without  Brennan  having  reached  first. 
Himself  a  left-hand  hitter,  the  Tango  Kid  was 
facing  the  hardest  kind  of  a  ball  for  him  to  hit — ■ 
a  slow^  curve  from  a  southpaw,  cutting  the  far 
corner  of  the  plate. 

"  If  they  ever  feed  the  Kid  a  fast  ball  around 


192       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

the  ear/'  breathed  Pop  Connelly,  "the  game  is 
over.'' 

If  the  Calgary  youngster,  however,  was  baffled 
at  the  bat,  he  endeared  himself  to  the  Wolf  sup- 
porters when,  with  the  bags  full  in  the  sixteenth 
and  two  out,  he  hurdled  the  low  railing  in  right 
field,  crashed  into  the  bleacher  section,  and 
caught  a  foul  ball  with  the  sun  shining  square 
against  the  yellow  glasses. 

Wild  Bill  Cassidy  and  Blinker  Burke  helped 
the  Tango  Kid  to  his  feet,  and  the  quick  eye  of 
the  trainer  spotted  a  ragged  tear  in  the  out- 
fielder's right  stocking  just  above  the  ankle. 

"  Here,  you,"  he  ordered,  "  let  me  see  what's 
wrong ! " 

Brennan,  however,  turned  resolutely  away,  his 
lips  compressed,  and  trotted  soberly  toward  the 
dugout,  the  bleacherites  thundering  their  appre- 
ciation of  the  catch. 

Protruding  from  under  the  seats  against  which 
the  outfielder  had  hurled  himself,  the  trainer  dis- 
covered the  upturned  spade  belonging  to  the 
Wolves'  ground  keeper.  Burke  frowned  and 
made  his  way  to  McGovern's  side. 

"  Brick,"  he  said,  "  I'm  afraid  that  Kid  is  hurt. 
You'd  better  take  a  look  at  his  leg  and — " 

He  stopped  short,  for  an  oddity  of  the  baseball 
diamond  was  taking  place.  All  thirty-third  de- 
gree fans  have  seen  it  happen  again  and  again 


THE  SPEED  PILL  193 

and  have  ceased  to  wonder  at  it.  When  an  out- 
fielder makes  a  great  catch  that  retires  the  op- 
position, Fate  ordains  that  it  shall  be  his  next 
turn  at  the  bat.  The  Tango  Kid  was  striding 
forward  to  the  plate,  swinging  his  short  chunky 
bat. 

On  the  Wolf  bench,  the  group  of  tired  veterans 
watched  Brennan  dully.  It  was  asking  too  much 
of  them  to  maintain  the  pace  at  which  they  were 
playing.  Another  inning  or  so  would  see  them 
weaken,  despite  the  club's  gameness. 

Pop  Connelly's  thoughts  were  much  along  the 
same  line.  "  Now  or  never  I  "  he  muttered  to 
himself,  and  even  as  he  spoke  he  saw  Lefty  Har- 
rison cut  loose  a  high  fast  ball  on  the  inside  of 
the  plate,  as  though  to  drive  the  Tango  Kid  back 
from  the  rubber ;  he  saw  the  Kid  swing  with  every 
ounce  of  energy  in  his  lithe  young  body,  heard 
the  clean,  sharp  crack  of  bat  and  ball,  and  beheld 
the  flying  pellet  sail  into  left  center,  with  two 
outfielders  racing  to  cut  it  off. 

Fitzgerald  of  the  Chronicle  leaped  to  his  feet, 
upsetting  his  telephone.  "  Two  bases ! "  he 
bawled.    "  There  goes  your  old  ball  game !  " 

In  the  deafening  clamor  that  echoed  and  re- 
echoed from  the  blackened  tiers  in  grand  stand 
and  bleachers,  three  veterans  of  the  ball  field, 
their  nerves  tingling  and  their  muscles  set, 
viewed  the  scene  with  outward  calm  and  through 


194       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

half-closed  eyes.  They  were  Pop  Connelly  in  the 
grand  stand,  Blinker  Burke  on  the  player's  bench, 
and  Brick  McGovern,  standing  in  the  coacher's 
box  at  third.  And  of  the  three,  the  ground 
keeper  alone  spoke. 

"  He  runs  just  like  Spike  Duffy,''  murmured 
Pop — "  only  faster.  It's  going  to  be  close — it's 
going  to  be  very  close — "  His  words  were 
drowned  in  a  diapason  of  rising  sound. 

The  Tango  Kid  had  passed  first  in  full  stride 
and  was  swerving  toward  second  at  an  angle 
which  left  no  room  for  doubt  as  to  his  intentions. 
For  the  first  time  since  the  immortal  Duffy  had 
left  for  the  majors  twenty  years  before,  St.  Clair 
fans  were  seeing  a  real  base  runner  in  action. 

Ten  thousand  people  saw  Brennan  stretch  a 
two-base  hit  into  three  bases  and  realized  that 
no  matter  how  cleanly  the  ball  was  handled  back 
into  the  infield,  the  Tango  Kid  would  beat  it. 
But  they  did  not  at  once  realize  the  full  signifi- 
cance of  the  youngster's  quick  glance  at  the 
coaching  line  as  he  flashed  over  the  shortstop's 
position,  and  then  the  swift  lowering  of  head  as 
he  tore  for  third. 

Pop  Connelly  and  Blinker  Burke,  however, 
caught  Brick  McGovern's  signal,  given  with  a 
sweep  of  the  arm  as  the  grizzled  pilot  noted  that 
the  center  fielder  was  making  the  mistake  of  a 
high  bounding  throw  to  third. 


THE  SPEED  PILL  195 

The  voice  of  the  ground  keeper  rose  above  the 
roar  of  the  crowd  in  a  shrill  scream :  "  Home ! 
Home!  Go  on,  Kid!  He's  going  to  make  it! 
Home!" 

Like  an  electric  spark  the  cry  flashed  over  the 
crowd,  bringing  men  upright.  Forty  feet  from 
the  plate  and  the  third  baseman  of  the  Tigers 
snapped  up  the  throw  from  the  outfield,  whirled 
and  with  a  single  motion  sent  the  ball  low  and 
true  to  the  waiting  catcher. 

The  Tango  Kid's  flying  body  left  the  ground  in 
a  white  streak,  catapulted  forward  with  one  final 
spring,  and  the  tip  of  one  shoe  scratched  the 
plate  as  the  Tiger  catcher  pounced  on  him  with 
the  ball.  The  crowd  waited  only  long  enough 
to  assure  itself  that  the  umpire  had  his  hands 
spread,  with  the  palms  downward.  Then  it  ren- 
dered tribute  to  the  hero. 

In  the  confusion  of  the  darkened  clubhouse, 
the  Wolves  dressed  silently,  which  is  unusual  be- 
havior for  a  winning  team — a  team  that  has  just 
scored  a  one-to-nothing-sixteen-inning  struggle 
against  Lefty  Harrison.  But  the  Wolves  had 
something  on  their  mind.  They  felt  ill  at  ease 
and  awkward,  and  one  after  another,  having 
dressed,  they  found  a  pretext  to  remain  in  the 
clubhouse. 

The  door  that  led  to  the  rubdown  table  opened. 


196       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

and  Blinker  Burke  appeared,  followed  by  a  brisk 
little  man  carrying  a  surgeon's  black  bag.  The 
little  man  picked  his  way  gravely  over  piles  of 
towels  and  disappeared  out  of  the  door.  Imme- 
diately, twenty  ball  players  surrounded  the  club 
trainer.  Truck  Darrow's  thunderous  tones  rose 
above  the  clamor. 

"  Well,"  he  demanded,  "  what's  the  idea  in  the 
doc'?  What's  wrong  with  the  Kid?  If  anybody 
spiked  him,  I'll  mur — " 

"  Lay  off!  "  snarled  Burke.  "  The  Tango  Kid 
will  do  his  own  murdering  if  it's  necessary.  No- 
body spiked  him,  but  his  leg  is  carved  a  bit — did 
it  in  trapping  that  foul.  He's  the  gamest  kid  this 
league  has  ever  seen." 

The  face  of  the  big  catcher  reflected  rank  dis- 
belief. He  stamped  noisily  into  the  rubdown 
room,  where  Clyde  Brennan  lay  on  a  lounge,  his 
right  leg  from  the  ankle  half  up  the  shin  incased 
in  bandages.  By  the  Calgary  youth's  side  stood 
Pop  Connelly,  his  usually  florid  face  a  chalky 
white.  The  ground  keeper  looked  at  the  Wolves 
as  they  crowded  into  the  little  room. 

"  Boys,"  he  said,  "  I  come  near  ruining  my 
own  lad — my  own  dear  lad ;  it  was  my  shovel  he 
hit.  I  never  thought  the  outfielder  lived  that 
would  go  that  far  after  a  ball,  but  he  did,  and  he 
busted  the  world's  record  going  around  them 


THE  SPEED  PILL  197 

"  What?  "  they  chorused. 

'^  The  world's  record/'  repeated  Pop,  "  on  a  leg 
that  none  of  us  would  have  stood  on.  Blinker 
had  three  fellows  holding  a  watch  on  him  all 
through  the  game.    He  made  it  in  13.3." 

The  Tango  Kid  turned  a  brick  red  under  the 
general  awed  scrutiny.  "  Forget  it !  "  he  said, 
and  struggled  to  get  up. 

Brick  McGovern  laid  a  heavy  hand  on  the 
young  man's  shoulder.  "  None  of  that !  "  he  ad- 
monished. ''  We  can't  afford  to  have  you  out  of 
the  game  any  longer  than  necessary.  The  doctor 
says  we  must  struggle  along  without  you  for  a 
week,  but  after  that  you  run  with  the  Wolf  pack 
until  the  majors  grab  you." 

**'At's  the  talk!"  cried  Schmidt.  "He  runs 
with  the  pack,  and  right  at  the  head  if  he  wants 
to.    What  say,  boys?  " 

In  unanimous  answer  to  the  catcher's  question, 
the  veterans  grouped  themselves  about  the  Tango 
Kid's  temporary  couch.  Their  faces  turned  to- 
ward the  ceiling,  their  chests  expanded,  and  so, 
standing,  with  their  arms  locked,  they  gave 
tongue  to  the  famous  hunting  cry  of  the  pack — 
the  long-drawn  howl  that  proclaims  the  election 
of  a  new  Wolf: 

"Good  hunting.  Kid!"  they  cried.  "Good 
hunting ! " 


PEBBLE  POP 

TEN  years  as  ground  keeper  for  the  St.  Clair 
ball  club  had  developed  in  "  Pop  "  Con- 
nelly a  deep  and  abiding  hatred  for  peb- 
bles. They  interfered  with  the  true  course  of  a 
baseball ;  they  marred  the  appearance  of  his  ball 
park;  worse — they  compelled  him  to  stoop  over 
and  pick  them  up,  and  he  was  fat  and  rheumatic.; 

Sometimes  Pop  Connelly  was  tempted  to  quit, 
but  the  temptation  was  not  strong.  A  ground 
keeper  does  not  figure  highly  in  the  estimation  of 
the  fans,  but  when  the  game  is  over,  after  all,  it 
is  his  ball  park,  and  there  is  no  one  to  kid  him 
if  he  wants  to  hark  back  twenty  years  or 
more,  and  fool  around  first  base,  or  go  out  in 
right  and  imagine  there's  a  ball  heading  for  the 
fence  and  the  bags  are  full. 

When  a  man  has  a  gold  watch  charm  to  prove 
that  he  once  played  in  right  field  and  batted  in 
the  clean-up  role  for  the  old  Greenwood  and 
Morans,  it  is  asking  a  good  deal  of  him  to  quit 
the  game  altogether. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  would  say :  "  I  remember  well. 
We  were  playing  the  Alerts  in  San  Francisco 
the  last  day  of  the  season  and  we  had  a  crowd  of 

198 


PEBBLE  POP  199 

eighteen  thousand.  They  had  us  two  to  nothing 
in  the  ninth  when  we  filled  the  sacks  and  I  come 
to  bat.  Now,  '  Demon '  Carlisle  was  pitching, 
and  he — '' 

That  was  about  as  far  as  Pop  Connelly  ever 
got  because  everybody  on  the  ball  club  knew  the 
story  by  heart  and  always  managed  to  escape, 
promising  to  return  in  a  few  minutes.  Some- 
times he  would  wait,  fingering  fondly  the  heavy 
gold  horseshoe  with  its  faint  inscription  on  the 
back. 

But  eventually  he  learned  that  he  was  expected 
to  tend  to  the  grounds  and  let  the  present  gen- 
eration of  ball  players  do  all  the  talking.  Once 
having  reached  that  conclusion,  he  became  "  Peb- 
ble Pop,"  with  a  determination  to  have  the 
smoothest  infield  in  the  business.  Just  as  he  had 
been  a  real  ball  player,  so  as  a  ground  keeper 
he  sought  to  be  a  champion. 

If  anything  further  was  needed  to  inspire 
Pebble  Pop  to  extraordinary  interest  in  the  con- 
dition of  the  St.  Clair  infield,  it  came  when  he 
recommended  Jimmy  Moran  to  "  Brick ''  Mc- 
Govern,  and  the  boy  made  good  at  short  for  the 
Wolves.  Thereafter  it  was  Pebble  Pop  himself 
who  was  out  on  the  diamond  every  afternoon, 
picking  ground  balls  out  of  the  dirt,  and  not  the 
lean,  wiry,  red-headed  youngster  of  twenty-two 
whose  father  had  played  with  Connelly. 


200       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

From  the  third  row  in  the  right-field  bleachers 
just  back  of  first,  where  he  could  see  each  throw 
that  his  protege  made,  Connelly  watched  every 
game — tensing  his  muscles  when  the  ball  went 
to  short,  and  leaning  forward  desperately  when 
Jimmy  "laid  one  down''  and  tried  to  beat  it 
out. 

Even  Brick  McGovern,  who  made  a  specialty 
of  developing  shortstops  for  the  majors,  admitted 
that  Pop  had  "  dug  up  a  live  one."  "  Swell  pair 
of  hands  on  that  kid,"  he  commented  in  the  dug- 
out. "  Gets  the  ball  away  from  him  quick  and 
doesn't  have  to  set  himself." 

Such  praise  usually  found  its  way  to  Con- 
nelly's ears,  and  filled  him  with  an  elation  equal 
only  to  that  he  experienced  when  Jimmy  Moran 
said  that  the  St.  Clair  grounds  were  better  than 
the  new  park  at  Vernon. 

Sometimes,  after  the  game,  when  the  outfield 
was  spouting  a  hundred  filmy  jets  of  spray  from 
the  concealed  sprinkling  system,  and  the  copper 
sun,  sinking  back  of  the  clubhouse,  painted  the 
fountains  as  the  west  wind  toyed  with  the  mist, 
and  the  whole  park  was  a  great  shimmering  em- 
erald. Pebble  Pop  loitered  in  the  shadow  of  the 
fence  until  the  players  in  their  street  clothes, 
came  straggling  along  toward  the  exit.  The 
greeting  between  the  young  shortstop  and  the 
old  ground  keeper  seldom  varied. 


PEBBLE  POP  201 

"How's  it,  Jimmy?'' 

"  Hello,  Pop,  what's  new?  " 

"  Nothing  much,  Jimmy.  Everything  all  right 
to-day?    Didn't  find  no  pebbles  bothering  you?  " 

"  Should  say  not.  Got  to  hand  it  to  you.  Pop. 
That  infield  is  sure  a  pip.  Couldn't  be  no  bet- 
ter." 

"  Thanks,  Jimmy.    See  you  again." 

"  So  long,  Pop." 

After  encouragement  like  that,  Connelly  at- 
tacked his  evening  task  with  fresh  energy.  But 
no  matter  how  carefully  he  rolled  and  watered 
the  broad  expanse  of  tan  soil  that  separated  the 
green  outfield  from  the  diamond  itself,  it  always 
seemed  that  the  players'  cleats,  grinding  into  the 
top  dirt,  had  brought  to  light  some  new  menace. 
It  was  his  constant  fear  that  some  day  he  would 
overlook  a  sun-baked  clod  of  dirt  or  a  small  stone 
that  would  make  a  ball  bound  badly  and  per- 
haps cost  the  Wolves  a  game. 

He  liked  to  imagine,  when  watching  a  swift 
bit  of  play,  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  in- 
field's being  so  smooth,  the  player  might  not 
have  got  the  ball.  But  of  course  this  brought  an 
equal  measure  of  responsibility  in  case  the  ball 
did  take  a  bad  hop.  The  possibility  that  Jimmy 
Moran  might  some  day  be  the  victim  of  a  false 
bound  was  something  that  destroyed  permanently 
his  peace  of  mind. 


202       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

And  then  one  day,  with  a  suddenness  that  left 
Pebble  Pop  dazed  and  crushed,  the  very  thing 
that  he  most  dreaded  actually  came  to  pass.  He 
was  in  his  customary  seat  in  the  bleachers.  The 
Wolves  were  playing  Los  Angeles,  and  it  was  a 
pitchers'  battle  between  Claude  Dugan  and 
"  Lefty  "  Brown,  with  the  score  tied  up  in  the 
sixth.  Ellis,  a  fast  man,  hit  viciously  to  short 
and  was  off  like  a  flash,  trying  to  beat  the  throw. 

Pebble  Pop  saw  O'Donnell  at  third,  hurl  him- 
self to  the  left  in  a  vain  effort  to  intercept  the 
ball,  and  Jimmy  Moran  coming  in  fast  behind 
him  to  nail  it  on  a  natural  bound.  The  next  in- 
stant there  was  a  cry  from  the  crowd,  and  the 
Wolf  shortstop  reeled  blindly  with  his  hands  to 
his  face.  The  ball,  rolling  slowly  toward  sec- 
ond, was  recovered  by  Peewee  Patterson,  who 
signaled  to  the  umpire  to  suspend  play.  From 
the  clubhouse  in  center  field  the  stubby  figure  of 
"  Blinker  "  Burke,  the  club  trainer,  hurried  for- 
ward with  his  emergency  kit. 

Connelly  tried  to  rise  from  his  seat  but  his 
limbs  failed  him.  He  caught  the  voice  of  the 
man  next  to  him. 

"  Got  it  right  in  the  eye,  didn't  he?  Must  have 
been  buzzing  around  last  night.  That's  the  trou- 
ble with  them  kids." 

The  power  of  speech  came  back  to  Connelly. 
"  No,  no,  no !  "  he  stammered.     "  It  was  a  bad 


PEBBLE  POP  203 

hop.  The  ball  hit  something — oh,  my  God,  it 
was  a  bad  hop!  Couldn't  you  see  it?  Let  me 
out!" 

He  clawed  a  path  to  the  ground.  Blinker 
Burke  was  leading  Moran  away,  and  Chad 
Fisher,  utility  infielder,  was  already  at  short, 
warming  up.  From  the  bleachers  and  grand 
stand  came  the  subdued  ripple  of  hand-clapping 
by  which  baseball  fans  try  to  express  their  sym- 
pathy on  such  occasions. 

Hurrying  stiffly  toward  the  clubhouse  in  the 
wake  of  the  trainer  and  his  charge,  the  ground 
keeper's  mind  revolved  dizzily  around  a  single 
fixed  idea :  "  A  bad  hop — the  ball  hit  something 
— a  bad  hop  and  it  had  to  be  Jimmy!  Oh,  my 
God ! ''  He  accomplished  the  three  steps  leading 
to  the  dressing  rooms  and  clung  to  the  door- 
way. 

Moran,  sitting  on  a  wicker  basket  used  to  hold 
the  uniforms  when  the  team  went  on  the  road, 
was  submitting  grimly  to  the  ministrations  of 
the  trainer.  Out  of  one  eye,  he  spotted  the  figure 
in  the  doorway,  and  waved  a  hand  assur- 
ingly. 

"Little  bit  of  hard  luck.  Pop,"  he  called; 
"  should  have  had  it  only  I  was  asleep.  Ain't 
nothing  to  worry  about." 

But  Pebble  Pop  saw  the  blood  streaming  down 
the  shortstop's  cheek  and  then  the  eye  itself,  al- 


204       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

ready  closed.    He  tried  twice  to  say  something, 
and  then  turned  away  numbly. 

The  next  afternoon  when  Senator  Frank  Lath- 
rop,  owner  of  the  Wolves,  arrived  at  his  office  in 
the  ball  park,  he  found  his  ground  keeper  waiting 
for  him.  Lathrop  was  a  big,  cheerful  man,  fond 
of  baseball,  politics  and  black  cigars.  Very  little 
ever  troubled  him. 

"Hello,  Pop,"  he  rumbled,  "what's  wrong 
now?  You  look  as  if  the  rats  had  eaten  up  all  the 
Infield  canvas.'' 

The  ground  keeper  shook  his  head. 

"  I'm  quitting  you,  senator.  I'm  asking  for 
my  release." 

Lathrop  paused  in  the  act  of  lighting  a  cigar. 
Had  Brick  McGovern  come  to  him  and  asked  for 
a  reduction  in  salary,  he  could  not  have  been 
more  astonished.  Mechanically  he  opened  sev- 
eral letters  and  stared  at  them  absently.  Finally 
the  solution  dawned. 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  "  oh,  I  see !  Now  listen.  Pop — 
you're  wrong.  Jimmy  didn't  get  hurt  through 
any  fault  of  yours.  McGovern  told  me  O'Don- 
nell  tipped  the  ball  with  his  glove,  just  as  it  hit 
the  edge  of  the  grass.  That's  why  it  bounded 
badly.  Moran  says  the  same  thing.  As  for  your 
quitting,  why  we  couldn't  get  along  without  you, 
so  just  forget  it." 


PEBBLE  POP  205 

Connelly  shook  his  head  stubbornly.  "  I'd 
like  to  believe  you,  senator,  but  I  can't.  All  the 
boys  are  trying  to  frame  an  alibi  for  me,  but 
there's  one  thing  you  and  they  don't  know.  The 
truth  is  I  hounded  it  last  night — my  back  was 
hurting  me  so  I  could  hardly  stand.  I  went 
home  early;  get  me?  I  didn't  give  the  infield 
the  attention  I  should  have — first  time  in  my  life, 
too.  If  we  lose  the  pennant  account  of  Jimmy 
being  out  of  the  line-up  it's  my  fault.  I  don't 
deserve  a  job  with  the  Wolves  any  more.  I'm 
not  fit  to  work  with  champions." 

Sitting  back  in  his  chair  with  his  thumbs  in 
his  armpits,  and  a  cigar  cocked  at  a  degree  in- 
dicating deep  thought,  Senator  Lathrop  pon- 
dered upon  this  new  angle  of  the  game  he  loved. 

Not  ten  minutes  before  he  had  met  Blinker 
Burke  out  on  the  sidewalk,  and  the  trainer  had 
solemnly  assured  him  that  he — Blinker — would 
have  Moran  back  in  the  line-up  within  ten  days, 
thereby  winning  the  pennant.  Now  a  fat  and 
bald-headed  ground  keeper  assumed  personal  re- 
sponsibility for  having  placed  the  title  in  jeo- 
pardy. 

With  a  wry  smile,  Lathrop  acknowledged  that 
hitherto  he  had  held  positive  opinions  as  to  the 
importance  of  a  club  owner  who  bought  the  play- 
ers and  paid  them  their  salaries.  He  wondered 
whether  there  was  any  one  from  Brick  McGov- 


206       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

ern,  pilot  of  'the  team,  to  Paddy,  the  bat  boy,  who 
didn't  think  the  game  revolved  around  him  and 
whether  it  wasn't  just  that  spirit  that  made  for 
success.  He  tapped  with  his  fingers  on  the  flat- 
top desk  and  considered  the  man  before  him. 
The  instincts  of  the  politician  came  to  his  rescue. 

^^  Pop,"  he  confided,  "  I'll  tell  you  what  I'm  go- 
ing to  do.  You're  too  valuable  a  man  for  the 
club  to  release  outright,  and,  yet,  as  a  ground 
keeper,  you  are  subject  to  discipline  the  same  as 
any  other  member  of  the  club.  Consider  your- 
self suspended  without  pay  until  such  time  as 
Moran  is  back  in  the  line-up.  Mind,  I  don't  want 
you  hanging  around  the  park.  Go  home  and  get 
yourself  in  condition.  You've  got  to  have  the 
park  in  good  shape  for  the  finish  in  October  when 
we  win  the  old  flag." 

Connelly's  faded  blue  eyes  sparkled.  The  club 
owner  had  gauged  him  adroitly.  To  be  punished 
and  yet  held  to  his  job — ^to  be  fined  and  sus- 
pended like  any  ball  player — that  was  balm  to  a 
wounded  soul.  Pebble  Pop  tried  to  look  prop- 
erly chastened  as  he  nodded  and  turned  his  back, 
but  all  the  way  home  he  walked  with  head  erect 
and  a  pink  flush  on  his  withered  cheeks. 

Over  and  over  he  repeated  to  himself :  "  Got 
to  have  the  park  in  good  shape  for  the  finish  in 
October,  when  we  win  the  flag." 

That  was  the  first  week  in  August  with  the 


PEBBLE  POP  207 

Wolves  in  second  place  on  the  heels  of  the  speed- 
ing Angels.  Following  his  nsnal  policy,  Brick 
McGovern  had  eased  his  club  along  during  the 
first  half  of  the  season  and  gradually  tightened 
the  reins  with  the  passing  of  July.  Now  he  was 
driving  the  team  with  all  the  ability  and  energy 
for  which  he  was  famous.  The  pitchers  were 
working  well,  and  five  of  the  regulars  were  hit- 
ting better  than  .280.  The  injury  to  Moran  was 
the  first  serious  mishap.  If  he  got  back  in  the 
line-up  in  time.  Wolf  fans  were  confident  that 
the  pennant  would  fly  again  in  center  field. 

The  team  departed  for  a  final  swing  around 
the  circle.  Connelly  watched  morning  and  eve- 
ning papers  for  the  news  that  would  mean  his  re- 
instatement. It  came  at  last  in  the  Salt  Lake 
box  score,  two  lines  of  type  bearing  this  legend : 

*  Moran 1      0      10      0      0      0 

*  Batted  for  Slagle  in  the  ninth. 

Connelly  whooped  for  joy.  "  A  hit,  too,"  he 
chuckled ;  "  first  time  up  since  he  got  hurt,  and 
he  gets  a  hit  off  Berger.    'Atta  boy,  Jimmy !  " 

Pebble  Pop  celebrated  his  first  day  back  on  the 
job  by  toiling  far  into  the  evening.  No  lawn 
was  ever  more  carefully  trimmed  and  manicured; 
no  runner's  path  was  ever  better  rolled  and  in- 
spected than  that  which  linked  the  bases  in  the 
St.  Glair  grounds.     He  told  himself  that  never 


208       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

again  would  an  aching  back  keep  him  from  doing 
his  duty;  never  again  would  a  ball  bound  badly 
on  Jimmy  Moran. 

The  Wolves  came  back  in  the  first  week  of 
September  with  just  three  games  separating  them 
from  the  leaders.  Pebble  Pop  awoke  to  a  new 
thought — a  thought  which  came  to  him  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  and  forced  him  bolt  upright 
in  the  dark.  He  was  amazed  to  think  that  it 
had  never  occurred  to  him  before.  The  Wolves 
would  not  finish  the  season  on  their  home 
grounds.  The  schedule  called  for  them  to  play 
the  Angels  in  Los  Angeles,  all  of  which  meant 
that  the  crucial  series  would  be  fought  out  on 
a  diamond  that  he  could  not  supervise.  Some 
other  ground  keeper  who  knew  nothing  about 
Jimmy  Moran  being  still  shy  of  grounders  that 
hugged  the  turf,  and  caring  less,  would  be  crush- 
ing pebbles  into  the  ground  instead  of  picking 
them  up. 

In  vain,  Connelly  tried  to  comfort  himself  by 
recalling  Blinker  Burke's  philosophy  that  a  peb- 
ble more  or  less  was  as  fair  for  one  side  as  the 
other.  There  remained  the  vivid  picture  of  what 
had  happened  once.  It  might  happen  again,  and 
this  time  ruin  Moran's  career.  The  thought  ap- 
palled him.  The  palms  of  his  hands  became 
moist. 

He  made  up  his  mind  the  next  morning  just 


PEBBLE  POP  209 

where  his  duty  lay  and  what  he  would  do.  With- 
out confiding  in  any  one,  he  would  go  down  to 
Los  Angeles  for  the  last  week. 

Twenty  thousand  people  left  the  Los  Angeles 
ball  park  on  the  evening  of  Saturday,  September 
thirtieth,  with  the  knowledge  that  the  game  on 
the  next  day — the  last  contest  of  the  season — 
would  tell  the  story.  For  three  successive  after- 
noons the  league  leadership  had  changed  hands. 
Sunday  would  either  see  McGovern's  hard-hit- 
ting Wolves  retain  the  lead  and  the  flag,  or  be 
beaten  by  the  Angels  in  the  closest  race  the 
Coast  League  had  ever  staged. 

Long  after  the  last  usher  and  program  boy 
had  departed,  and  a  light  rain  was  falling  on  the 
apparently  deserted  grounds,  a  stout  figure 
squirmed  awkwardly  from  its  place  of  conceal- 
ment under  the  right-field  bleachers  and  de- 
scended to  the  diamond. 

Pebble  Pop  had  found  his  self-appointed  task 
more  difficult  than  he  had  figured.  The  Los  An- 
geles club  was  well  supplied  with  ground  keep- 
ers and  he  could  think  of  no  excuse  for  intruding 
on  their  duties.  Also,  it  had  occurred  to  him 
that  since  he  was  under  contract  to  the  Wolves, 
it  was  not  proper  that  he  should  appear  to  be 
working  for  any  other  club.  But  the  thought 
that  he  was  doing  nothing  toward  helping  the 


210       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

team  was  unbearable.  If  he  could  pick  up  just 
one  pebble  from  that  infield,  it  might  be  the  very 
one  that  otherwise  would  cause  the  downfall  of 
his  club. 

The  plan  of  secreting  himself  after  the  Thurs- 
day game  had  been  an  inspiration.  Helped  by  a 
pocket  flash  light,  that  represented  a  part  of  his 
fast  dwindling  reserve  fund,  Pebble  Pop  worked 
over  the  infield,  in  the  dusk,  like  a  well-trained 
setter  on  the  trail  of  game.  The  rain  saturated 
his  clothing,  the  night  air  enveloped  him,  the 
darkness  increased,  but  he  stuck  obstinately  to 
his  patrol.  At  length,  satisfied  that  when  the 
grounds  were  given  their  last  treatment  in  the 
morning  there  would  be  no  pebbles  to  be  over- 
looked, he  moved  painfully  to  the  top  tier  of  seats 
in  the  grand  stand  and  curled  up,  shivering,  until 
the  gates  should  be  opened  in  the  morning. 

A  special  policeman,  sauntering  through  the 
inclosure  at  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning  came 
upon  an  old,  bald-headed  man,  whose  cheeks  were 
flushed  and  w^hose  teeth  chattered.  He  could 
give  no  clear  account  of  himself,  and  his  coat 
pockets  were  filled  with  pebbles  and  clods  of  dirt. 
He  was  plainly  suffering  from  exposure  and  a 
high  fever. 

At  the  City  Receiving  Hospital,  a  steward 
identified  the  patient  by  means  of  letters  in  his 
pocket;  and  promptly  telephoned  to  the  hotel 


PEBBLE  POP  211 

where  the  Wolves  were  quartered.  The  message 
brought  Brick  McGovern  and  Jimmy  Moran  hur- 
rying to  the  hospital.  They  listened  in  amaze- 
ment to  the  officer's  story  and  stared  at  the  pile 
of  pebbles  on  the  steward's  desk. 

Brick  McGovern  was  moved  profoundly. 
"  Can  you  beat  that?  ''  he  muttered.  "  The  poor 
old  nut!  Trying  to  help  us  right  down  to  the 
last  day.  Wanted  to  be  in  on  it,  too.  Well,  I'm 
damned. 

Moran  felt  of  the  pebbles  curiously.  "  He  ain't 
really  bad  off,  is  he?  " 

The  young  interne  shook  his  head.  "  Pneu- 
monia— the  right  lung  is  affected,  but  I  guess  we 
got  him  in  time.  He  seems  to  be  resting  easily. 
Maybe  you'd  better  talk  to  him." 

They  tiptoed  into  a  ward  where  Connelly  lay 
in  a  white  bed,  buried  under  blankets  and  flanked 
by  hot-water  bottles. 

"How's  it.  Pop?"  they  asked. 

He  eyed  them  sheepishly.  "  All  right,  I  guess. 
Run  down  to  see  you  boys  win  the  flag,  and  I 
guess  I  must  have  made  a  fool  of  myself.  They 
ain't " — he  looked  anxiously  at  the  nurse — "  they 
ain't  going  to  keep  me  from  going  to  the  game 
this  afternoon,  are  they?  You  won't  let  them  do 
that,  will  you,  boys — after  old  Pop's  come  all  this 
way?  " 

They  shuffled  their  feet  and  looked  at  one  an- 


212       HEAKTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

other  and  then  at  the  interne  and  nurse.  The 
former  shook  his  head  decisively. 

"  Going  to  a  ball  game  to-day  is  out  of  the 
question.  Your  temperature  is  a  hundred  and 
three.'' 

Jimmy  Moran  had  an  inspiration.  "  Listen, 
Pop,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  done  your  bit  last 
night,  didn't  you?  There  ain't  nothing  more  you 
can  do  for  us.  Tell  you  God's  honest  truth,  that 
infield's  been  bothering  me  all  week,  and  now 
that  you've  fixed  it,  don't  you  see  that  it  ain't 
necessary  for  you  to  be  there?  " 

In  the  eyes  of  Brick  McGovern  there  dawned 
a  new  respect  for  his  young  shortstop.  He  took 
the  cue. 

"  You've  said  it,  Jimmy,"  he  affirmed ;  "  Pop's 
already  done  everything  he  could.  Now  you  stay 
right  here.  Pop ;  and  play  the  bed — that's  a  good 
one,  eh?  You  play  the  bed  and  I'll  play  the 
bench,  and  we'll  have  some  one  'phone  you  the 
score  by  innings.    How's  that?  " 

Connelly  smiled  tremulously.  "  God  bless  you, 
boys.  I'll  play  the  bed  and  pull  for  luck.  Only 
^ust  you  ask  the  doc'  to  get  me  my  horseshoe. 
I  want  to  hold  it.  Seems  like  it  was  only  yes- 
terday when  I  come  up  there  with  the  bases  full 
and  busted  that  old  apple." 

The  nurse  departed  and  was  back  in  a  few 
minutes  with  Connelly's  watch  and  heavy  gold 


PEBBLE  POP  213 

chain.  "  Is  this  it?  '^  she  asked.  ^^  I  don't  see 
any  horseshoe." 

A  strangled  cry  came  from  the  bed.  "  It's 
gone!  Somebody's  swiped  it.  My  horseshoe's 
gone;  it  was  hanging  right  to  the  chain,  Brick — 
right  to  the  chain,  I  tell  you." 

Connelly  made  a  move  to  climb  from  the  bed, 
but  Brick  McGovern  held  him  down. 

"  Be  easy !  Nobody's  swiped  your  horseshoe," 
he  hurried,  "  Jimmy  found  it  near  the  hotel  this 
morning  where  you  must  have  dropped  it.  See, 
the  link  is  all  wore  out.  Jimmy'll  keep  it  safe 
for  you  until  we  get  home." 

"  You're  fooling  me ;  Jimmy  hasn't  got  it — ^it's 
been  swiped." 

Moran  helped  out :  "  Sure ;  I've  got  it.  I  put 
it  in  the  hotel  safe  so  nothing  would  happen  to 
it.    Brick  seen  me  pick  it  up ;  didn't  you,  Brick?  " 

McGovern  nodded  emphatically. 

The  sick  man  sank  back  upon  his  pillows. 
"  Forgive  me,  boys,  I  believe  you — only  I  wouldn't 
lose  that  horseshoe  for  the  world.  Maybe  when 
you  get  as  old  as  me,  you'll  understand  what 
those  kind  of  things  mean.  Guess  you  boys  got 
to  be  heading  for  the  park  pretty  soon,  eh?  Well, 
Jimmy,  mind  the  hops  to-day,  and  make  your 
throws  sure;  don't  worry  none  if  they  hug  the 
ground,  cause  I  sure  got  every  pebble — every 
last  pebble,  son !  " 


214       HEAKTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

"  So  long,  Pop,"  they  chorused ;  "  we'll  bring 
you  the  pennant  to-morrow." 

Outside,  as  they  hailed  a  passing  taxi,  Mc- 
Govern  turned  to  the  shortstop.  "  Know  what 
the  old  man's  horseshoe  looked  like." 

"  I  think  so,"  Moran  reflected,  "  though  I'm  not 
sure  about  the  lettering.  Some  of  the  boys  ought 
to  remember.  We'll  hunt  up  a  jeweler  first  thing 
after  the  game.  The  cop  never  rolled  him  for 
it,  because  his  purse  was  still  on  him,  and,  any- 
way, the  watch  and  chain  is  worth  more  than  the 
horseshoe." 

McGovern  shrugged.  His  mind  was  already 
at  work  on  the  afternoon's  game — the  game  that 
would  mean  possibly  the  achievement  of  his  am- 
bition :  Four  pennants  in  a  row.  They  alighted 
at  the  ball  park  and  hurried  through  the  play- 
ers' gate. 

Exactly  three  hours  and  seven  minutes  later, 
the  Los  Angeles  ball  park  was  a  swirling  bedlam 
of  noise  and  confusion.  The  great  score  board 
in  left  field  showed  the  Wolves  leading  in  the 
last  half  of  the  ninth  seven  to  six,  but  the  Angels 
had  the  bases  full  and  Bert  Jackson,  pinch  hit- 
ter, was  at  the  bat  with  two  gone.  The  decision 
rested  on  the  next  move. 

Jimmy  Moran,  with  every  nerve  at  the  snap- 
ping point,  called  to  the  infield :     "  Play  the 


PEBBLE  POP  215 

nearest  bag — the  nearest  bag  for  a  force.'' 
Obeying  McGovern's  signals,  the  infielders 
moved  back  into  the  grass  so  as  to  make  the  circle 
of  defense  wider.  They  crouched  there  quiver- 
ing as  "  Tiny  "  Goodman,  his  huge  frame  taking 
the  full  wind-up,  shot  over  a  high  curve,  and 
the  runners  got  under  way. 

"  Crash !  "  A  streak  of  white  gleamed  along 
the  infield  as  the  ball  shot  past  third.  The  crowd 
erupted  in  a  volcano  of  yells  which  as  suddenly 
was  blanketed  by  a  dead  calm,  for  no  one  could 
understand  the  puzzling  thing  that  happened. 
Moving  at  the  instant  the  ball  was  hit,  and  rac- 
ing to  the  right  with  apparently  no  chance  to 
make  the  play,  Jimmy  Moran  saw  the  sphere  en- 
counter an  obstacle.  The  course  of  the  ball  was 
deflected  suddenly  upward  and  within  reach  of 
the  clutching  fingers  of  his  bare  hand.  Without 
stopping  to  set  himself  he  tossed  the  pill  under- 
hand to  O'Donnell  at  third,  and  out  of  the  corner 
of  one  eye  saw  the  umpire's  hand  go  up  over  the 
right  shoulder.  The  game  was  over.  The  pen- 
nant was  theirs  again. 

Pebble  Pop  guessed  the  news  when  the  nurse 
entered  the  room  with  the  final  bulletin. 
"  We,  won !  "  he  whooped.    "  We  got  it !  " 
"  I  don't  feel  a  bit  like  telling  you,  either," 
said   the   nurse  with    a   laugh,    ^^  because    I'm 


216       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

an  Angel  fan.  The  Wolves  did  win,  seven  to 
six." 

"  Good  gosh  almighty,"  yelled  Connelly,  "  and 
I'll  bet  Jimmy  pulled  the  trick.  It  couldn't  have 
been  nobody  else." 

But  no  one  came  to  acquaint  him  with  the  de- 
tails, so  he  tossed  restlessly  all  that  night,  wait- 
ing for  the  morning  newspapers.  Early  in  the 
morning  the  nurse  brought  him  the  first  edi- 
tion and  he  turned  eagerly  to  the  sporting  page. 
A  black  headline  shrieked  at  him :  "  Lucky 
bound  costs  Angels  the  pennant.  Fluke  play  by 
Wolf  shortstop  robs  Jackson  of  hit." 

The  smile  froze  on  his  lips.  His  low  moan 
brought  the  nurse  to  his  side. 

"  The  first  paragraph,"  he  said  thickly ;  "  read 
it  to  me." 

She  got  as  far  as  the  fourth  line  and  then  noted 
that  (Connelly's  eyes  were  closed  and  his  teeth 
were  chattering. 

"  There,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I  shouldn't  have  let 
you  see  the  papers  at  all."  She  swept  them  all  up 
in  her  arms,  and  darkened  the  room. 

"  Keep  perfectly  still  and  I'll  get  you  some 
medicine.    You  must  go  to  sleep." 

But  Pebble  Pop  was  far  from  being  able  to 
sleep.  Fate  had  played  him  a  cruel  trick.  The 
Wolves  had  won,  but  not  with  his  aid — rather  in 
spite  of  his  meddling  interference.     The  one 


PEBBLE  POP  217 

pebble  he  had  overlooked  had  brought  them  the 
pennant.  Unwittingly  he  had  done  his  best  to 
cheat  them  of  victory,  and  they  must  all  know  it. 
He  would  have  to  resign,  or,  simpler  still,  he 
would  just  lie  where  he  was  and  let  the  end 
come. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  he  awoke  and  concluded 
that  he  must  be  dying,  for  about  his  bedside  he 
made  out  Jimmy  Moran,  Senator  Frank  Lathrop, 
"  Tiny  "  Goodman  and  several  others.  He  could 
hear  Brick  McGovern  over  by  the  door  arguing 
indignantly. 

"  What  do  you  fellers  think  this  is,  the  dining 
room?  Didn't  the  doc'  say  we  mustn't  excite 
him?" 

And  then  Bert  Slagle  gruffly :  "  Who  in  hell 
is  going  to  excite  him?  I  got  as  much  right  in 
there  as  them  pitchers,  ain't  I?  " 

Apparently,  McGovern  gave  up  in  disgust,  for 
the  entire  team  edged  into  the  room  and  stood 
around  the  wall,  gazing  curiously  at  the  invalid. 

Pebble  Pop  told  himself  that  he  did  not  feel 
as  though  he  was  badly  off.  In  fact,  he  felt  dis- 
gustingly better.    It  was  all  beyond  him. 

Senator  Lathrop  advanced  to  the  bed.  "  Well, 
how's  the  champion?  "  he  inquired.  "  I  thought 
at  first  that  we  had  only  nine  men  in  the  line-up, 
but  I  found  we  had  to  depend  after  all  on  the 
champion  ground  keeper  of  the  world ! " 


218       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

Connelly  shook  his  head.  "  Don't  kid  me, 
boys,"  he  begged.  "  I  been  reading  the  papers. 
The  old  man  tried  his  best  to  crab  the  game  for 
you." 

The  owner  of  the  four-time  pennant  winners 
winked  jovially  at  Brick  McGovern.  Every  one 
grinned  appreciatively. 

Connelly  flinched.  "  Go  on  out  and  leave  me 
alone.  'Taint  fair  to  come  here  and  laugh  at 
me." 

But  they  only  grinned  the  more.  Out  of  a 
capacious  inside  pocket  Senator  Lathrop  pro- 
duced an  envelope. 

"  It's  all  right,  Pop,"  he  said  good-naturedly ; 
"  let  us  have  our  little  fun,  and  don't  get  excited. 
We're  all  going  home  on  the  night  train.  I've 
arranged  for  a  drawing-room  and  a  nurse.  Mean- 
time here's  a  little  memento  of  the  season."  He 
handed  the  invalid  a  check,  and  Pebble  Pop  noted 
that  it  was  for  five  hundred  dollars. 

"  Part  of  the  bonus  offered  by  the  Chamber 
of  Commerce  if  we  won  the  flag,"  explained  Lath- 
rop. "  The  boys  had  a  meeting  this  morning  and 
declared  you  in  on  it.  And  here  is  a  three-year 
contract  which  the  club  is  anxious  for  you  to  sign 
as  soon  as  you  get  back  home.  It  provides  for 
an  assistant  ground  keeper  who  will  be  under 
your  direction.    Go  on.  Brick,  it's  your  turn." 

McGovern  colored.    He  was  not  used  to  that 


PEBBLE  POP  219 

sort  of  thing,  but  he  saw  that  the  ground  keeper's 
dazed  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him.  "  Nothing  much 
to  say,  Pop,"  he  grumbled ;  "  only  I  was  bulling 
you  yesterday  when  I  told  you  about  Jimmy  pick- 
ing up  your  horseshoe  near  the  hotel.'' 

"  He  didn't  find  it?  "  Connelly  was  aghast. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  he  found  it  all  right — but  not  where 
I  said  he  did.  Kick  in,  Jimmy;  tell  Pop  where 
you  found  it." 

Moran  fumbled  in  one  pocket  and  produced  a 
jeweler's  box.  It  was  small  and  bore  the  marks 
of  the  most  exclusive  shop  in  Los  Angeles. 

"After  I  made  that  play  in  the  ninth,"  he 
said,  "  I  went  back  to  see  what  made  that  ball 
bound  like  that.  I  figured  if  it  was  a  pebble,  it 
was  the  luckiest  pebble  in  the  world,  and  I  was 
going  to  keep  it.  Well,  I  found  it,  there  in  the 
grass,  but  I  ain't  going  to  keep  it." 

He  spread  aside  the  tissue  paper  that  all  might 
see  the  gold  horseshoe,  freshly  cleaned  and  pol- 
ished, shining  in  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  my  God !  "  gasped  Pebble  Pop,  "  you  don't 
mean  I  lost  that  on  the  diamond — that  wasn't 
what  the  ball  hit?  "  His  eyes  swept  them  all  in- 
credulously and  twenty  heads  nodded  at  him  sol- 
emnly. 

"  So  you  see,  Pop,"  said  Moran  gently,  "  you 
see  who  actually  won  the  pennant  for  us?  Did 
you  look  on  the  back?  " 


220       HEAKTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

Connelly  turned  the  horseshoe  over.  "  Win- 
ner of  the  championship,  1882/'  he  read  glibly, 
and  then  his  tongue  failed  him. 

"  Go  on,"  prompted  Brick  McGovern — "  what 
else — right  under  that?  '' 

But  Pebble  Pop  could  only  look  at  them  with 
flooded  eyes,  for  the  freshly  engraved  legend  at 
the  bottom  of  the  horseshoe  read :  "  And  the 
Coast  League  pennant,  1921." 


CALLED  ON  ACCOUNT  OF  DARKNESS 

AT  the  last  moment,  Baldwin  leaped  for- 
ward, turned  a  somersault,  and  came  up 
with  the  ball  in  one  hand. 

The  crowd  yelled,  and  in  the  left  field  bleachers 
a  fight  started.  Thither  toiled  "Pop''  Donlin 
because  he  had  a  special  star,  and  a  bamboo  cane, 
and  was  the  paid  preserver  of  the  peace  in  Kid's 
Heaven. 

"  Iviry  lad  to  his  own  place !  "  yelled  Pop,  and 
flailed  away  with  his  stick  until  at  the  bottom  of 
a  pile  he  uncovered'  Billy  Winks. 

"  So,  'tis  you,"  grunted  the  Apostle  of  Law  and 
Order,  "  three  times  this  week  have  you  discom- 
moded me — out  ye  go !  " 

"  They  was  panning  Terry,"  panted  the  boy, 
"  they  said  he  could  have  caught  it  easy  only  he 
wanted  to  show  off.  They're  crazy!  Leggo  my 
ear.  Pop — gee  whiz,  can't  I  stick  up  for  a  guy?  " 

Special  Officer  Donlin  took  this  question  under 
judicial  consideration,  and  then  released  his  hold. 

"  The  point  is  well  taken,  me  son,"  he  observed, 
"  on  your  promise  of  good  behavior,  the  Court 
will  be  merciful  the  once  more.  Twinty  years 
ago,  do  ye  mind? — ^but  av  course  ye  don't — well, 

221 


222       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

I  was  once  a  divil  of  a  man  in  the  outfield,  and 
there  was  them  in  the  bleachers  that  stood  up  for 
Pat  Donlin;  God  love  'em,  I  had  me  friends! 
Will  ye  be  still  now?  '' 

He  waved  his  cane,  threatening  such  dire  con- 
sequences that  cherubim  and  seraphim  scrambled 
back  into  place,  and  a  great  hush  descended  on 
the  twelve-tiered  throne  of  Kid's  Heaven. 

The  inning  ended  and  Outfielder  Terry  Bald- 
win trotted  to  the  dugout  to  quench  his  thirst  at 
the  watercooler.  Up  strolled  "  Brick  "  McGov- 
em,  soft  of  voice  and  quick  of  eye,  and  under 
cover  of  the  upraised  glass,  the  manager  spoke 
his  mind  on  the  subject  of  misjudging  fly  balls. 

"  One  more  like  that,  Mr.  Baldwin,"  he  warned, 
"  and  you  come  out  of  there !  " 

Now  there  are  sun,  and  wind,  and  tone  colors 
of  the  sky  from  which  an  outfielder  may  select 
his  defense,  but  Baldwin  said  no  word.  He  made 
his  way  to  the  plate,  and  having  struck  out,  re- 
turned to  sit  among  his  comrades,  offering  no 
alibi  for  his  performance  in  the  field  or  at  bat, 
which  is  a  bad  sign. 

When  the  uniformed  figure  was  once  more  on 
the  green  carpet  just  below  him,  Billy  Winks 
wriggled  to  the  railing  and  addressed  the  de- 
fendant vociferously. 

"  'At's  all  right,  Terry,  old  boy !  These  guys 
don't  know  a  real  ball  player  when  they  see  one." 


ON  ACCOUNT  OF  DARKNESS        223 

Kid's  Heaven  yelled  derisively,  but  Baldwin 
turned  around  and  located  his  ten  year  old  ad- 
mirer. He  grinned  appreciatively,  and  when  the 
game  was  over,  tossed  up  a  practise  ball  to  Billy 
Winks. 

Thus  are  friendships  fashioned.  Billy  Winks 
hung  around  the  players'  gate  after  the  game  un- 
til his  idol  emerged,  when  he  presented  a  sport- 
ing extra  and  walked  at  Baldwin's  side  for  sev- 
eral blocks,  looking  up  like  a  fox  terrier  and 
quivering  with  delight  as  the  outfielder  kidded 
him. 

A  week  of  this,  and  then  Baldwin  showed  up 
one  morning  at  the  park  playground  and  under- 
took to  show  Billy  Winks  how  to  get  away  fast 
from  the  plate  on  a  bunt,  and  how  by  touching 
second  base  with  the  left  foot  rather  than  the 
right  Ty  Cobb  found  out  he  could  pivot  his  body 
in  a  more  direct  line  with  the  third  cushion. 

Billy  Winks  was  very  grateful.  He  introduced 
the  ball  player  to  the  playground  contingent,  re- 
gardless of  age,  class  or  color,  and  the  outfielder 
responded  so  cheerfully,  that  thereafter  Kid's 
Heaven  fought  no  more  with  Billy  Winks  but 
stood  nobly  behind  the  left  fielder  of  the  Wolves, 
recognizing  him  as  pal,  and  pattern  and  patron 
saint — a  man  who  could  do  no  wrong. 

This  master  stroke  of  statesmanship  called  for 
some  recognition  on  Baldwin's  part.     He  went 


224       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

one  evening  to  a  house  in  the  Mission  district 
where  Billy  Winks  was  boarded  out  by  the  Chari- 
ties. There  was  a  picture  at  the  Central  Theater 
called :  "  Larruping  Larry  of  Red  River  "  and 
Baldwin  had  two  tickets. 

But  Billy  Winks  was  mindful  of  the  courtesies. 
He  introduced  his  hero  to  "  Mother  "  Kearney 
and  then  to  Mary  Malone  who  worked  at  the  15- 
cent  store  and  went  three  nights  a  week  to 
Professor  Miller's  Academy  of  Dramatic  Art. 
Mary  was  only  twenty  and  had  a  way 
of  looking  straight  at  people  out  of  seal- 
brown  eyes. 

So  the  invitation  was  broadened  and  the  three 
visited  the  shrine  of  Celluloid  Romance  and  were 
variously  affected  by  the  adventures  of  a  gentle- 
manly bandit  who  eventually  reformed. 

Thereafter  there  was  a  Triple  Alliance  which 
observed  Friday  night  with  sacred  punctuality, 
and  discussed  earnestly  the  respective  merits  of 
baseball,  agriculture  and  the  stage. 

"  Why,  I  think  baseball  is  a  wonderful  pro- 
fession for  a  man,''  said  Mary  Malone.  "  Think 
of  all  the  people  who  know  you,  and  read  about 
you,  and  go  to  see  you — and  then,  it  teaches  you 
to  be  so  strong  and  fearless.  Why,  I  can't  think 
what  possesses  you  to  talk  about  a  ranch !  " 

"  A  man  can't  stay  in  baseball  only  so  long,"  ar- 
gued Baldwin ;  "  he's  got  to  look  ahead.    For  my 


ON  ACCOUNT  OF  DARKNESS        225 

part,  I  can't  see  the  stage  for  a  nice  girl  like  you 
— knocking  around  with  a  lot  of  ham  actors  and 
never  having  no  home  or  nothing.'' 

"  What  do  you  think  I  ought  to  do? "  she 
queried,  and  turned  artless  eyes  on  the  screen. 

"  Oh,  I  dunno,"  he  made  answer,  ^'  only  it  seems 
like  you  ought  to  have  a  nice  little  home — an' 
kids ;  you're  that  kind  of  a  girl.  The  stage  is  the 
bunk." 

Billy  Winks  horned  in  on  the  discussion.  "  I 
betcha  I  land  in  the  majors  some  day!  I  betcha 
I  do." 

The  Triple  Alliance  agreed  to  that  assertion 
unanimously. 

After  these  weekly  conferences  they  went  home, 
the  boy  to  dream  of  batting  averages  and  a  con- 
tract from  Connie  Mack;  the  girl  to  fashion  her 
own  scenario  with  Terry  as  co-star ;  and  the  man 
to  lie  awake  between  sheets  that  were  damp  with 
the  sweat  of  his  body  and  to  wrestle  with  an 
exquisite  fear  that  belongs  not  to  a  man  who  has 
bludgeoned  .300  in  the  majors  and  is  but  twenty- 
four. 

There  were  many  things  about  Terry  Baldwin 
that  puzzled  fandom.  Why  should  a  man  lead 
the  American  Association  in  hitting  and  fielding ; 
set  the  majors  on  fire  for  two  months  and  then 
blow  up  without  apparent  reason.  And  being  re- 
turned to  minor  league  company,  why  should  he 


226       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

be  able  to  show  only  occasional  flashes  of  the 
form  that  had  sent  a  dozen  scouts  scrambling  on 
his  trail? 

The  supporters  of  the  St.  Clair  club  fully  ex- 
pected to  see  the  Wolves  measurably  strength- 
ened by  the  addition  of  Terry  Baldwin.  He 
might  need  a  little  more  seasoning  to  stick  in 
the  big  show,  but  there  was  no  excuse  for  fail- 
ure to  star  in  the  Coast  League. 

But  what  Wolf  fans  beheld  was  a  man  who 
looked  every  inch  a  ball  player,  but  who  was  ut- 
terly undependable  at  the  bat,  and  showed  an 
increasing  tendency  in  the  field  to  deliberately 
play  a  fly  ball  so  that  he  could  pull  hair-raising 
catches  at  the  last  moment. 

That  might  go  for  "Kid's  Heaven,'^  but  not 
for  the  dyed-in-the-wool  brethren,  nor  the  astute 
gentry  in  the  press  box;  so  they  called  him  the 
"  Ten  Thousand  Dollar  Quince," — quince  being 
the  fruit  of  the  Cydonia  Vulgaris  .  .  .  too  au- 
stere to  be  eaten  uncooked  (see  Webster),  and 
$10,000  representing  the  price  paid  by  "  Brick  " 
McGovern  to  find  out  that  a  baseball  peach  can 
sour  over  night. 

Truly,  such  things  are  beyond  the  comprehen- 
sion of  any  one  because  the  answer  is  so  exceed- 
ingly simple.  Not  even  Billy  Winks  guessed  that 
Terry  Baldwin  made  those  extraordinary  catches 
because  he  couldn't  correctly  gauge  a  ball  until  it 


ON  ACCOUNT  OF  DAKKNESS        227 

was  on  top  of  him,  and  that  he  struck  out  for  the 
same  reason. 

But  the  "  Ten  Thousand  Dollar  Quince  "  had 
been  aware  for  some  time  that  gradually  but  none 
the  less  he  was  going  blind! 

It  was  an  insidious  thing  that  crept  upon 
Terry  Baldwin  and  he  was  a  long  time  in  recog- 
nizing it. 

When  the  average  man  becomes  suspicious  that 
there  is  something  wrong  with  his  eyes,  he  goes 
to  an  office,  and  sits  in  a  chair  and  looks  at  very 
black  figures  through  first  one  eye,  and  then  the 
other,  responding  to  questions  with  a  painful  ef- 
fort to  be  exact.  Then  he  accepts  his  first  glasses 
philosophically  and  in  a  few  days  knows  not  the 
difference. 

But  not  so  with  the  ball  player.  He  hides  the 
secret  from  any  one,  because  no  man  can  play 
ball  in  spectacles  and  there  is  no  other  profes- 
sion to  which  he  is  trained.  He  talks  about  the 
high  atmosphere,  and  the  air  currents,  and  the 
advertising  signs  on  the  fences  that  form  no  fit 
background  for  a  line  drive.  And  in  the  morn- 
ings and  on  days  when  the  team  is  traveling,  he 
keeps  his  eyes  closed  as  much  as  possible,  hoping 
that  Nature  will  come  to  his  rescue,  and  that  his 
Manager  will  not  be  too  observing. 

Baldwin  did  all  these  things  before  the  White 
Sox  sent  him  to  the  Coast.    He  spent  three  days 


228       HEAKTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

and  nights  on  the  train,  with  his  eyelids  lowered 
almost  continually,  but  in  the  first  game  with  the 
Wolves,  a  fly  ball  came  to  him,  high  and  on  the 
right,  and  he  misjudged  it  badly,  leaping  back- 
handed at  the  last  moment  to  make  the  catch. 

"  Circus  stuff,"  commented  the  bleachers. 

Baldwin  encouraged  that  belief ;  it  was  as  good 
an  alibi  as  any  other.  He  kept  his  own  counsel, 
and  strove  to  tune  his  ear  to  the  crack  of  the  bat 
and  to  interpret  it  fairly  correctly. 

He  got  his  first  hint  always  from  the  shortstop 
who  by  virtue  of  his  job  is  fast  on  his  feet  and 
moves  instinctively  after  a  fly  ball,  especially 
when  it  is  in  left  field.  Thus  he  was  able  to  see 
the  blurred  line  in  the  air  and  experience  told 
him  the  line  would  swerve  sharply  when  the  ball 
was  near.  That  was  something  he  could  not  un- 
derstand, but  he  learned  to  hold  his  muscles  in 
readiness  for  that  desperate  final  leap,  and  be- 
cause he  seldom  dropped  a  ball  that  he  could  lay 
either  hand  on,  he  succeeded  in  postponing  the 
inevitable. 

But  one  night,  when  the  Triple  Alliance  was 
in  the  Crystal  Palace,  at  Seventeenth  and  Mis- 
sion, the  ball  player  placed  one  hand  over  his 
right  eye  and  stared  at  the  screen. 

Mary  Malone  heard  a  startled  exclamation  at 
her  side. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  she  asked  quickly. 


ON  ACCOUNT  OP  DARKNESS        229 

"  Nothing,"  he  answered,  and  was  silent  for 
the  balance  of  the  evening.  When  he  reached 
the  seclusion  of  his  hotel  room,  he  tried  further 
experiments  with  the  same  result.  He  wondered 
how  long  the  sight  of  his  right  eye  had  been  gone, 
and  how  long  the  left  eye  would  last.  He  was 
afraid  to  press  the  little  button  on  the  wall,  for 
fear  that  when  he  pressed  it  again  he  would  be 
unable  to  tell  the  difference. 

Fully  clothed,  he  lay  on  top  of  his  bed,  pro- 
testing that  he  was  only  24,  and  that  all  he 
wanted  to  do  was  to  play  ball — clean  ball  like 
he  had  always  done — and  that  no  one  had  a  right 
to  rule  him  out  like  that — no  One! 

"  You're  not  on  the  level,"  he  mumbled, 
"you're  not  giving  me  a  chance!  I  can't  fight 
back.  Give  me  my  eyes,  damn  it.  Oh,  give  me 
my  eyes !  " 

His  brain  grew  hot  and  disordered.  He  told 
himself  that  he  would  fool  them  all.  He  would 
go  on  playing  ball  until  they  pulled  him  off  the 
field  by  force.  Billy  Winks  would  never  know; 
or  Mary  Malone;  nor  any  one.  If  he  couldn't 
play  ball,  he  was  not  going  to  let  any  one  lead 
him  around  by  the  hand  and  teach  him  how  to 
make  baskets. 

The  next  day  it  began  to  drizzle  in  the  fifth 
inning,  not  hard  enough  to  warrant  suspension 


230       HEAKTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

of  play,  but  penetratingly,  wet  and  cold,  so  that 
the  management  opened  up  the  grand  stand  to 
the  bleacherites  who  scrambled  gratefully  under 
cover. 

The  Quince  looked  in  back  of  his  position  and 
saw  Billy  Winks  shivering  under  a  thin  jacket, 
but  sticking  resolutely  to  Kid's  Heaven. 

"  Go  on  home,"  he  counseled,  "  ain't  you  got 
an  overcoat?  " 

The  boy  shook  his  head.  "  I  ain't  so  very 
c-cold,"  he  chattered.  "  I'll  wait  until  you  b-bat 
again !  " 

Baldwin  stole  another  uneasy  look  at  the  sole 
occupant  of  Kid's  Heaven.  As  he  did  so,  a  bat 
cracked  sharply. 

A  warning  scream  came  from  Billy  Winks. 
"  Look  out,  Terry !  " 

The  outfielder  whirled  and  sprang  into  action, 
bulging  eyeballs  turned  to  the  dark  sky.  He 
looked  down.  The  shortstop  was  racing  out  to 
take  the  throw,  and  the  rest  of  Baldwin's  team 
mates  were  faced  in  his  direction. 

Cavanaugh,  tearing  over  from  center,  shouted 
at  him :     "  Back — go  back — play  the  fence !  " 

On  the  instant,  Baldwin  pivoted  sharply  and 
made  for  the  bleacher  wall  with  his  head  turned. 
He  caught  the  line  of  the  on-coming  sphere  and 
estimated  it  higher  than  it  was.  He  was  sprint- 
ing back  with  all  the  strength  he  could  muster, 


ON  ACCOUNT  OF  DARKNESS        231 

when  his  body  crashed  full-tilt  against  the 
bleacher  wall. 

In  a  well  of  darkness,  the  Quince  crumpled 
up  at  the  foot  of  Kid's  Heaven,  and  the  ball 
dented  the  turf  at  a  spot  which  any  outfielder 
should  have  reached  easily. 

They  carried  him  to  the  clubhouse,  and  there 
was  no  soft  patter  of  applause  by  which  fandom 
is  wont  to  express  its  sympathy  with  an  injured 
player. 

"  It  was  the  Quince's  own  fault,"  argued  the 
bleacherites ;  ''  there  was  just  one  kid  left  on  the 
benches,  and  he  had  to  turn  around  and  talk  to 
him.    Can  you  beat  it?  " 

But  Billy  Winks,  wide-eyed  and  fear-stricken, 
hurried  into  the  wet  street  and  took  up  his  post 
at  the  players'  exit.  There  he  remained,  a  shiver- 
ing little  spaniel,  until  "  Babe "  Durango,  who 
had  been  thrown  out  of  the  game  for  crabbing, 
emerged  in  street  attire. 

"  How's  T-terry?  "  chattered  the  boy. 

"  All  right,"  said  Babe  carelessly,  "  you  can't 
hurt  ivory.    What's  the  matter,  kid — sick?  " 

"  N-no." 

"  Well,  you  better  beat  it  home  to  your  mother 
— you  look  it." 

Billy  Winks  nodded  and  turned  away.  He 
would  have  liked  very  much  to  "  Beat  it  home  to 
Mother."    That  being  impossible,  he  thought  of 


232       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

Mary  Malone.  He  liked  her  because  she  did  not 
baby  him  and  because,  too,  she  liked  Terry  Bald- 
win and  would  appreciate  the  terrible  thing  that 
had  happened. 

Thus  two  members,  constituting  a  quorum  of 
the  Triple  Alliance,  went  into  executive  session, 
leaving  the  third  party  to  face  "  Brick  "  McGov- 
ern  in  the  gloom  of  the  ball  park  of&ce. 

McGovern  came  to  the  point  quickly. 

"  What  was  the  matter  out  there  to-day?  " 

"  It  was  pretty  dark,  Brick." 

The  manager  grunted  expressively.  "  We  got 
two  umpires  out  there  to  rule  on  that  point,"  he 
reminded,  "  so  long  as  the  game  ain't  called  on 
account  of  darkness,  you're  paid  to  get  the  ball. 
Got  anything  else  to  say?  " 

"  No,  Brick — only  it  was  pretty  dark." 

"  And  yet  you  turned  your  back  on  the  plate  to 
talk  to  a  kid.  I  was  watching  you.  To-morrow 
you  play  the  bench  and  I'll  ask  for  waivers.  It 
may  not  be  quite  so  dark  in  the  bushes." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  Quince,  and  stumbled  as 
his  foot  encountered  the  door  sill. 

McGovern  called  him  back  sharply. 

"  Say,  what's  the  matter  with  you?  " 

"  Nothing." 

Baldwin's  eyes  were  crystal-clear,  his  muscu- 
lar frame  steady  and  upright. 

McGovern's  brows  knitted,    "  Well,  you  ought 


ON  ACCOUNT  OF  DARKNESS        233 

to  know,"  he  concluded.  "  I  guess  that's  all." 
The  papers  chronicled  the  passing  of  Terry 
Baldwin.  They  did  not  call  him  the  "  Ten  Thou- 
sand Dollar  Quince"  but  elected  to  say  nice 
things  about  him  in  the  obituary  notices  so  that 
he  could  land  another  job.  Sporting  editors  ap- 
preciate that  a  man  must  eat. 

But  the  Quince  did  not  eat,  nor  sleep,  nor  read 
the  papers,  nor  seek  advice.  What  was  the  use? 
It  would  be  darker  in  the  bushes  than  it  had 
been  in  the  Coast  League.  It  was  twilight  over 
the  whole  world  for  the  Quince  and  night  was 
fast  descending. 

Two  days  passed  and  then  Mary  Malone  ran 
out  of  her  house  in  the  middle  of  the  night  with 
a  shawl  over  her  dark  curls.  She  called  Terry- 
Baldwin  on  the  telephone. 

"  It's  Billy,"  she  panted,  "  he's  very  ill  and 
calling  for  you.     Oh,  please  come  quickly !  " 

The  Quince  had  other  plans  but  they  were 
founded  on  the  assumption  that  he  was  of  no 
further  use  to  any  one,  so  they  collapsed 
leaving  in  his  mind  only  a  sudden  fear  for  Billy 
Winks. 

Mary  Malone  met  him  at  the  door  of  the  board- 
ing house.  She  impressed  him  as  having  attained 
sudden  maturity  and  heightened  beauty. 

"The  doctor  is  here,"  she  said,  "it's  pneu- 


234       HEAKTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

monia  and  meningitis — inflammation  of  the 
brain.  You  may  be  of  great  help.  Please  come 
this  way." 

The  Quince  followed  her  into  the  little  bed- 
room upstairs.  A  man  of  about  forty  with  tired 
eyes  arose  from  the  edge  of  the  bed.  He  had  a 
stethoscope  in  his  hands. 

"  Four  times  eight  is  sixty-eight,"  cried  a  small 
voice — "  Terry,  look  out !  " 

The  Quince  turned  a  white  face  to  the  physi- 
cian. 

"  Lobar  pneumonia,"  said  the  doctor,  "  the 
right  lung  is  consolidated.  Open  all  the  win- 
dows as  far  as  possible." 

"  Yes,  doctor."  It  was  Mary  Malone  who  spoke 
up  and  obeyed  promptly. 

"And  some  hot  mustard  applications." 

"  At  once,  doctor." 

The  physician  looked  at  her  approvingly  and 
then  turned  to  the  Quince  whose  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  little  figure  tossing  restlessly  on  the  cot. 
He  penciled  a  prescription  and  gave  it  to  Bald- 
win. 

"You'll  have  to  go  down  town  for  that,  but 
you'd  better  get  it  right  away.  It's  pneumococcic 
vaccine  and  it  will  help." 

The  Quince  went  away  and  returned  in  a  re- 
markably short  time  having  spent  a  five  dollar 
bill  which  he  had  carefully  tucked  away  in  his 


ON  ACCOUNT  OF  DARKNESS        235 

watch  pocket  for  an  entirely  different  purpose. 
It  was  well  that  he  returned  when  he  did,  for 
Billy  Winks  believed  himself  once  more  in  the 
left  field  bleachers. 

"  Look  out,  Terry,'^  he  moaned,  "  there  it  comes. 
Get  it,  old  boy!  Oh,  Terry — I  didn't  mean  to — 
yes,  mam — five  sixes  is  thirty — no  thirty -five. 
Get  it,  Terry ! '' 

The  Quince  approached  the  bed  and  took  Billy 
Winks  by  the  hand. 

"  I  got  it,  kid,"  he  soothed,  "  it's  in  the  old  well 
for  sure.  Terry's  got  the  old  glove  on  it.  Lie 
down,  little  feller." 

"  Five  times  six  is  thirty — you  got  it,  Terry?  " 

"You  bet  I  did,  kid.  Made  a  swell  catch. 
Everything's  all  right.  Don't  get  up,  kid.  Go  to 
sleep." 

"  You  going  to  sit  up  here  with  me,  Terry.  You 
going  to  catch  the  ball  with  me?  You're  not  mad 
at  me?    Mary  isn't  mad  at  me.    Five  times  six — " 

Mary  Malone  appeared  at  the  bedside.  "  Let 
me  have  him  a  moment,"  she  said  quietly.  In 
her  hands  she  held  a  basin  of  tepid  water  and  a 
sponge.  "  I'm  going  to  bathe  him.  Don't  go, 
Terry.    You  alone  can  quiet  him." 

The  Quince  drew  a  little  to  one  side  and,  with 
the  physician,  watched  the  feminine  member  of 
the  Triple  Alliance  unfolding  the  age-old  instinct 
of  her  sex. 


236       HEAKTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

"  My  name  is  Hilmer/'  whispered  the  physi- 
cian. "  If  you  don^t  mind,  I  think  I  had  better 
stay  here  to-night.  Nothing  much  to  be  done 
though.  It's  a  self-limited  disease — nursing  is 
everything.     Splendid  girl — that !  '^ 

Again  the  Quince  was  impressed  with  the  lines 
of  fatigue  in  the  physician's  face,  and  the  large, 
lustrous  eyes.  Hilmer's  whole  frame  seemed  to 
sag  under  clothes  that  were  spotted  and  thread- 
bare.   Baldwin  was  vaguely  uneasy. 

Billy  Winks  dropped  into  a  troubled  sleep,  and 
the  Quince  drew  Mary  Malone  into  the  hallway. 

"  You're  sure  he's  a  good  doctor?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered.  "  He  was  in 
the  drugstore  when  I  rushed  out  to  telephone, 
and  he  came  right  along  with  me.  He  seemed 
to  know  just  what  was  wrong  at  a  glance.  He 
volunteered  to  stay  all  night." 

''That's  it,"  puzzled  Baldwin,  "they  don't 
usually  do  that,  do  they?  He  looks  kind  of  down 
and  out  to  me — like  he  didn't  have  many  patients. 
Maybe  that's  better  than  the  other  kind — he  can 
give  his  whole  attention  to  Billy.  Mary,  you 
don't  think  the  little  feller's  going  to — " 

"  Terry ! — don't  you  dare  say  it !  don't  even 
think  it !  I  don't  go  to  church,  Terry — ^but  I  just 
know  there's  Some  One  back  of  everything  and 
He  isn't  cruel — say  *  He  isn't  cruel ! '  " 

"  He  isn't  cruel/^  repeated  the  Quince. 


ON  ACCOUNT  OF  DARKNESS        237 

From  behind  the  closed  door  rose  the  voice  of 
Billy  Winks  : 

"  I'm  not  so  very  cold.  I  want  to  see  you  bat 
again.  Look  out,  Terry — oh,  I  didn't  mean  it. 
Oh,  Terry!'' 

"  You'd  better  go  in  and  quiet  him,"  advised 
the  girl,  "  I'll  make  up  the  two  lounges  in  the 
parlor.    If  anything  is  needed,  call  me  at  once." 

Baldwin  reentered  the  room  and  approached 
the  bed.  At  his  reassuring  voice,  the  boy  reached 
out  a  hot  hand  and  the  Quince  took  it. 

"  Five  times  six — you  guys  don't  know  a  real 
ball  player  when  you  see  one.  He's  no  quince — 
take  it  back !  " 

"  Easy,"  soothed  Baldwin,  ^'  easy,  little  feller. 
Terry's  got  the  ball — everybody's  cheering,  every- 
thing's all  right— go  to  sleep,  kid,  go  to  sleep." 

Ten  minutes  later,  the  grip  on  Baldwin's  hand 
relaxed  and  he  looked  up  to  note  Hilmer  stand- 
ing at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  his  arms  folded,  and 
his  eyes  intently  set  on  the  invalid's  face. 

The  Quince  concluded  that  his  early  impres- 
sion of  the  physician  was  faulty.  The  lines  of 
fatigue  were  gone  from  Kilmer's  face;  his  body 
no  longer  drooped.  He  stood  erect  and  alert, 
with  a  carriage  that  suggested  military  training. 
Baldwin  was  puzzled. 

The  night  dragged  on  with  the  physician  and 
the  ball  player  alternating  at  the  bedside.    In  the 


238       HEAKTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

morning,  Mary  Malone  came  to  them,  her  eyes 
clear  and  confident. 

"  Breakfast  is  ready  downstairs,"  she  an- 
nounced. "  After  that  you  are  both  to  go  to  bed 
and  I  will  call  you  if  necessary.  That's  right, 
isn't  it.  Doctor?  " 

"  Exactly,"  he  agreed  gravely. 

They  went  into  Mother  Kearney's  small 
kitchen.  Baldwin  noticed  that  the  physician  took 
five  spoonfuls  of  sugar  in  his  coffee,  and  that  he 
was  again  a  man  bowed  down  with  an  infinite 
fatigue. 

In  the  days  that  followed,  Hilmer  became  more 
than  ever  a  man  of  mystery.  He  absented  him- 
self less  and  less  from  the  little  house  wherein 
the  Triple  Alliance  struggled  against  any  sun- 
dering of  the  bonds.  Sometimes,  he  was  master- 
fully serene  and  buoyant;  more  often  he  was 
bent  with  a  weariness  that  seemed  to  tap  his  very 
soul.  But  after  the  first  day,  there  was  no  doubt 
that  he  knew  his  business,  and  that  for  some 
reason  of  his  own,  the  man  was  giving  all 
that  was  in  him  to  the  task  of  saving  Billy 
.Winks. 

"But  what  about  you,  Mary — ^your  job?" 
questioned  the  Quince. 

"  This  is  my  job  now,  Terry — the  store  can 
get  along  without  me.    But  what  about  you?" 

"  Leave    of    absence,"    he    explained    slowly, 


ON  ACCOUNT  OF  DARKNESS        239 

"  when  the  kid  pulls  through — when  he  doesn't 
need  me  any  more,  I — '' 

"  Hush,"  she  whispered,  "  he's  calling." 

"  'At's  the  old  boy,  Terry — I'm  pulling  for  you. 
I  ain't  so  very  cold  .  .  .  Oh,  look  out!'^ 

The  Quince  bounded  up  the  stairs,  and  once 
again  resumed  his  place  in  the  mythical  game. 

The  seventh  day  came  and  brought  no  relief. 
The  ninth  and  tenth  day  arrived  and  still  no 
crisis.  Billy  Winks  did  not  talk  any  more.  His 
temperature  mounted  to  104-105  and  then  106. 
His  pulse  raced  and  the  respirations  came — sixty 
to  the  minute. 

On  the  morning  of  the  eleventh  day,  Hilmer 
shook  his  head.  Billy  Winks  was  very  close  to 
Kid's  Heaven. 

"  One  way  or  the  other  very  soon,"  whispered 
the  physician.  They  had  never  seen  him  look 
so  utterly  devitalized.  His  gray  face,  the  chin 
cupped  in  one  hand,  was  turned  thoughtfully  to- 
ward the  child's  cot,  and  in  the  abnormally  large 
pupils  of  the  eyes  there  was  a  hungry  flame. 

Mary  Malone's  hand  sought  Baldwin's. 
Through  all  the  long  days  and  nights,  neither 
courage  nor  trust  had  faltered,  but  she  was 
young  and  she  loved  Billy  Winks. 

"  I  just  know  He  isn't  cruel,"  she  breathed, 
"  don't  give  up — any  one;  come  back  to  us,  Billy 
! — oh,  please!  '^ 


240       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

And  in  the  gray  of  the  morning,  Hilmer  laid 
a  hand  on  the  boy's  forehead  and  found  it  wet 
and  noted  that  both  the  pulse  and  respirations 
were  steadier. 

"  Go  to  bed — you  two,"  he  beamed,  "  the  Triple 
Alliance  maintains  its  integrity !  " 

Daylight  found  Billy  Winks  very  weak  but 
with  the  fever  receding  and  his  small  brain  try- 
ing to  bridge  the  gap  of  darkness.  He  looked  up 
to  find  his  two  Allies  bending  over  him. 

"How  many  hits  you  get  to-day,  Terry?"  he 
whispered. 

The  Quince  quivered  slightly.  "  I  got  a  home 
run,"  he  gulped,  "  clean  into  the  left  field  bleach- 
ers— getting  to  be  a  regular  fence-buster,  I  am! 
Ain't  I,  Mary?  " 

Billy  Winks  transferred  his  attention  to  the 
girFs  nodding  head,  and  then  put  the  next  ques- 
tion with  appalling  directness. 

"  Are  you  two  going  to  get  married?  " 

"  Why — Billy !  "  gasped  Mary  Malone,  "  what 
ever  put  that  idea — " 

"  I  think  it  would  be  nice,"  he  whispered. 

The  Quince  reddened  and  then  went  very 
white.  "  I — I,  you  see,  Billy,"  he  stammered, 
"maybe  sometime — " 

Mary  Malone  shot  a  quick  glance  at  Terry 
Baldwin  and  then  busied  herself  with  Billy 
Winks'  pillow. 


ti 


♦ 


ON  ACCOUNT  OF  DARKNESS        241 

"  Lie  still,  little  man,"  she  crooned,  "  you 
mustn't  talk  or  think  of  anything  right  now. 
,When  you're  well  enough  to  go  to  the  ball  park 
and  see  Terry  play  again — everything  will  be 
all  right.    Now  go  to  sleep.'' 

She  darkened  the  room  and  signaled  to  the 
Quince. 

Outside,  he  rallied  his  faculties  in  an  effort 
to  explain  matters.  "  Mary — I  don't  want  you 
to  think  that  I— that  I—" 

"  Of  course  not,"  she  interrupted  quickly — 
"  Billy  isn't  quite  right  yet.  Please  forget  it. 
Anyway,  I'm  really  crazy  about  the  stage  and — 
oh,  there's  the  milkman  and  we  should  have  an- 
other pint  of  certified." 

The  Quince  watched  her  flutter  down  the  stairs 
and  he  understood  that  the  Triple  Alliance  had 
withstood  one  attack  only  to  face  a  harder  one. 
He  closed  his  right  eye  and  nodded  wisely  as  he 
noted  that  the  blur  was  extending  to  the  remain- 
ing member. 

"  Can't  play  ball,"  he  muttered,  "  can't  marry 
— can't  do  anything  very  much  longer.  Mary 
was  willing,  too.  .  .  .  What  a  dirty  trick !  " 

He  tiptoed  lightly  down  the  stairs,  intent  on 
retrieving  his  belongings  from  the  little  sitting 
room.  The  door  was  unlatched  and  he  pushed  it 
gently  ajar.  Hilmer  had  come  in  and  was  stand- 
ing at  the  window  with  his  back  partly  turned. 


242       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

Something  in  the  physician's  attitude  induced 
the  Quince  to  watch  noiselessly  until  he  under- 
stood what  there  was  about  Hilmer  that  had 
mystified  them. 

Hilmer  was  slowly  revolving  a  lighted  match 
under  a  spoonful  of  liquid.  When  the  match  had 
burned  its  course,  he  laid  it  down  and  picking  up 
a  hypodermic  needle,  drew  the  liquid  up,  guard- 
ing carefully  against  the  malignant  air  bubble. 
A  moment  later  he  had  bared  his  wrist,  straight- 
ened under  the  influence  of  the  drug,  and  turn- 
ing, observed  Baldwin  in  the  doorway. 

"Ah,  Baldwin,''  he  said  lightly,  "you  see  the 
medical  profession  has  its  quinces,  too.  First 
the  majors,  then  the  bushes — then  morphine." 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  sneak  in  on  you.  Doc'," 
apologized  the  Quince,  "  I  was  coming  after  my 
things.  I'll  say  you're  a  real  doctor  though — it 
seems  kind  of  funny — that  stuff ;  you  ought  to  be 
hitting  the  ball." 

Hilmer  smiled  a  little  ironically.  "  Perhaps 
I'm  a  trifle  stale.  I  was  making  |25,000  a  year 
when  the  war  broke  out.  I  specialized  in  brain 
surgery  under  Dubouque  in  Paris.  I  spent  two 
very  messy  years  at  the  front,  and  for  a  rest  they 
transferred  me  to  relief  work  in  Poland  where 
the  children  form  in  a  line  outside  your  tent,  and 
though  you  do  not  stop  to  eat  or  sleep — the  line 
is  always  there — always  growing  longer — and 


ON  ACCOUNT  OF  DAKKNESS        243 

things  happen  that  one  tries  to  forget  and  can't. 
When  it  was  over,  I  came  back  and  found  that 
my  wife  had — "    He  stopped  and  shrugged. 

"  Passed  out?  "  asked  the  Quince. 

"  No." 

"  Oh." 

"  Some  women  are  queer,"  continued  Hilmer 
evenly,  "  I  suppose  she  just  got  tired  of  waiting. 
But  there  was  a  boy — just  about  the  age  of  our 
little  friend  upstairs.  He  loved  me  and  he  died. 
I've  always  thought  I  might  have  saved  him  had 
I  been  there.  That's  why  I  stuck  with  this  one. 
I'm  glad  it's  through  with.  When  morphine  in- 
terferes with  your  practise,  drop  the  practise." 

"  What  does  the  stuff  do  to  you?  " 

"  Kid's  you  along  at  first.  If  you're  sub-nor- 
mal it  brings  you  up  to  par — for  awhile." 

With  the  toe  of  one  shoe,  the  Quince  drew  a 
diamond  on  the  carpet  and  frowned  thoughtfully. 

"  I'm  in  trouble,  Doc' — I'm  sure  up  against  the 
real  thing.  Do  you  suppose  a  shot  of  that  stuff 
would  help  me  think  a  little  clearer?  " 

"  Forget  it,"  admonished  Hilmer — >"  you're 
\  crazy,  man!  With  a  girl  like  that  waiting  for 
you,  and  little  Billy  to  watch  you  play  ball?  All 
you  need  is  a  bit  of  sleep  and  a  marriage  license." 

Something  within  the  Quince  gave  way.  He 
buried  his  head  under  shaking  hands  and  sank 
into  a  chair. 


244       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

"  That's  it-— Doc',"  he  moaned.  "  I  can't  sleep, 
I  can't  play  ball ;  I  can't  marry.  I'm  going  stone 
blind.  No  wonder  they  call  me  a  Quince.  It's 
been  coming  on  for  six  months  and  now  it's  got 
me!" 

Hilmer  walked  over  and  locked  the  door.  He 
came  back  and  put  his  hands  on  Baldwin's  head, 
forcing  the  latter's  face  up  toward  the  light.  "  I 
suppose  you  never  told  any  one,  either,"  he 
opined,  "  you're  almost  as  big  a  damn  fool  as  I 
am.    Tell  me  all  about  it." 

The  Quince  tried  to  reconstruct  his  symptoms 
but  they  formed  a  rather  disordered  nightmare. 
Hilmer  towed  him  to  the  window  and  instructed 
him  to  look  at  first  one  object  and  then  the  other,, 

"  H'm,"  commented  the  physician,  "  ever  suffer 
a  blow  on  the  head?  " 

"  I  was  beaned  by  Jake  Jordan  of  the  Reds 
and  was  out  on  my  feet  for  two  days,"  confessed 
the  Quince — "  they  don't  make  'em  any  speedier 
than  that  bird."  He  felt  meditatively  above  his 
right  ear.  "  I  bat  right  handed  but  I  ducked  into 
this  one,"  he  explained. 

"  So,"  commented  the  physician,  "  you  were 
beaned  over  the  right  temple  and  then  the  sight 
of  the  right  eye  failed ;  you  wouldn't  notice  it  at 
first,  but  you  wouldn't  be  able  to  gauge  distance. 
Then  the  left  eye  began  to  be  affected.  Try  grip- 
ping my  hand." 


ON  ACCOUNT  OF  DAKKNESS        245 

The  Quince  extended  his  fingers. 

"  Harder,''  instructed  Hilmer,  "  grip  my  hand 
as  hard  as  you  can." 

"  I  guess  I'm  all  in/'  acknowledged  the  Quince. 
"  Brick  McGovern  was  right  in  giving  me  the 
air." 

"  Humph,"  said  the  other,  "  then  you're  fired?  " 

"  Of  course — don't  you  read  the  papers?  I've 
been  stringing  the  Kid  along  the  best  I  could, 
and  I  don't  want  to  be  here  when  he  finds  it  out. 
He  isn't  exactly  like  other  kids,  Doc'  ?  " 

"  No,"  Hilmer  agreed,  "  he's  not  like  most 
others,  but  he  is  very  like  one  that  I  mentioned ; 
that  one  had  a  hero,  too."  He  walked  over  to 
the  window  and  drummed  thoughtfully  on  the 
glass. 

He  was  still  standing  there  when  some  one 
knocked  lightly  and  then  opened  the  door.  It 
was  Mary. 

"  Excuse  me,"  she  pleaded,  '*  but.  Doctor — do 
you  think  it  would  be  all  right  to  give  Billy  a 
soft-boiled  egg?  " 

He  nodded  gravely  and  then  motioned  her  to  a 
chair. 

"  Sit  down  a  moment.  Miss  Malone,"  he  re- 
quested, "  I  have  something  to  say  to  both  of  you. 
Terry  and  I  have  been  exchanging  confidences. 
I  am  addicted  to  morphine  and  he  is  almost  if  not 
entirely  blind." 


246       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

"  Oh,"  said  Mary  Malone.    "  Oh !    Oh ! '' 

"  It  is  possible,"  Hilmer  continued,  "  that  there 
is  hope  for  both  of  us.  A  very  delicate  operation 
might  relieve  the  pressure  which  I  suspect  exists 
on  Terry's  brain;  as  for  myself — it  will  be  very 
hard  but  there  is  a  little  boy  upstairs — " 

Mary  Malone  rose  to  her  feet.  She  laid  a  light 
hand  on  the  Quince's  bowed  head,  and  then  went 
very  straight  to  Hilmer. 

"  The  darkest  hour,"  she  said  softly,  "  it's  true, 
isn't  it.  Doctor?  The  light  is  going  to  come  again 
.  .  .  you'll  win — both  of  you ! "  She  was  very 
near  to  tears  but  she  fought  them  back  and  man- 
aged to  smile. 

"  Good-by  to  the  Triple  Alliance,"  she  cried, 
"  we'll  have  to  call  it  the  Fighting  Four !  " 

"  One  more  point,"  said  Hilmer.  "  I  am  go^ 
ing  away  for  a  little  while.  In  the  meantime  I 
shall  ask  that  both  of  you  go  to  the  Affiliated  Col- 
leges and  learn  more  about  me ;  also  it  would  be 
well  to  get  their  diagnosis  of  the  case.  When  I 
return — if  I  do  not  feel  equal  to  the  task  I  shall 
say  so  frankly  and  recommend  some  one  else.  As 
for  my  practise,"  he  smiled  slightly,  "  I  will 
ask  a  very  dear  friend  to  keep  an  eye  on 
Billy  Winks." 

Hilmer  won,  for  he  came  from  a  long  line  of 
ancestry  which  on  land  and  sea  met  the  challenge 


iife;M'jyii». 


ON  ACCOUNT  OF  DARKNESS        247 

of  the  enemy  with  the  stubborn  motto :  "  J'y,  suis 
et  j'y  reste ! '' — Here  I  am  and  here  I  stay! 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  one  day  in  the  little 
brick  hospital  on  the  hill,  overlooking  the  St. 
Clair  ball  grounds  and  the  city  as  well,  they 
wheeled  the  "  Ten  Thousand  Dollar  Quince " 
away  to  the  operating  room.  Mary  Malone  was 
very  brave ;  she  waited  until  the  whir  of  the  rub- 
ber wheels  was  far  down  the  corridor,  before  she 
fainted. 

And  Dr.  Basil  Horace  Hilmer,  who  had  elected 
to  forget  many  things,  including  the  three  for- 
eign decorations  in  his  trunk  at  home,  donned 
once  more  his  surgeon's  mask  and  apron,  and 
trephined  the  Quince's  skull,  cutting  through  the 
brain  covering  itself  to  remove  the  cyst  which 
pressed  downward  and  choked  the  discs  of  the 
eyes.  It  was  a  very  delicate  operation — so  deli- 
cate that  there  was  a  moment  when  the  only  one 
who  breathed  was  the  man  lying  on  the  table. 

But  when  it  was  all  over  and  Terry  Baldwin 
was  back  once  more  in  his  own  room  with  his 
senses  clearing,  and  the  black  night  turning  into 
green  and  then  gray  and  then  yellow,  Mary  Ma- 
lone sat  on  one  side  of  his  bed  with  a  nurse  on 
the  other  and  the  suspense  was  very  great  in- 
deed. 

Gradually  the  stupor  faded  and  Baldwin 
looked  first  at  the  nurse  and  then  at  the  girl  on 


248       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

his  right.  Very  deliberately  he  closed  his  right 
eye  and  regarded  them  with  the  left,  reversing 
this  procedure  solemnly  several  times.  Next  he 
directed  both  eyes  at  the  ceiling;  then  straight 
ahead;  then  to  either  side. 

Mary  Malone  saw  a  finger  crooked  in  her  di- 
rection.   She  leaned  over  the  bed. 

"  Closer/'  implored  the  Quince,  "  just — a  little 
closer.'' 

From  woman  to  woman  there  flashed  in  the 
sixteenth  of  a  second  the  mystic  signal  of  the 
sisterhood.  The  nurse  arose  and  moved  to  the 
window. 

Mary  Malone  bent  close  until  her  lips  brushed 
those  upturned  toward  hers. 

"  Mary,  will  you  marry  me?  " 

^^Yes,  Terry." 

The  Quince  exhaled  profoundly.    Then — 

"Mary,  I  can  pretty  near  see  through  that 
wall.  Just  you  watch  me  hit  that  old  apple ;  just 
you  watch  me  run  them  bags ;  just  you  watch  us 
go  back  to  the  majors  with  a  brass  band.  Oh, 
bend  down  just  once  more,  please! '' 

The  door  opened  to  admit  Hilmer,  still  with 
his  sleeves  rolled  up. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  laughed,  "  that's  certainly  a 
powerful  restorative.  Go  right  ahead,  children, 
I've  sent  the  car  for  Billy  Winks." 

When  the  junior  member  of  the  Fighting  Four 


0" 


ON  ACCOUNT  OF  DARKNESS       249 

showed  up,  he  had  on  a  new  suit  and  his  hair 
was  neatly  licked  into  place.  He  came  in  holding 
Dr.  Hilmer  by  the  hand  and  there  was  something 
in  the  tacit  understanding  apparent  between  the 
two  that  appealed  vastly  to  the  others. 

"  Billy  and  I  have  been  talking  it  over,  you 
see,"  the  physician  explained,  "  and  we've  about 
agreed  to  cast  our  lot  together.  I'm  wishing  an- 
other name  on  him,  and  he's  going  to  teach  me 
how  to  play  ball  again;  isn't  that  it,  son?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Billy  Winks  Hilmer,  "wouldn't 
it  be  funny  if  you  made  the  majors,  too?  " 


HIS  HONOE,  THE  UMPS 

*'IIe  may  Jiave  been  safe  as  you  state/ ^  says  BUI, 
*'But  I  called  him  out,  and  he^s  out  until 

It's  snowin'  in  hell,  and  there's  sand  on  the  sea! 

That's  the  hind  of  an  umps  I  am,"  says  he. 

— Ballads  of  Brick  McGovern. 

HIS  HONOR  missed  it ! 
Now  there  is  this  about  an  umpire :  he 
may  have  integrity  like  unto  Caesar's  wife, 
and  possess  the  wisdom  of  Solomon;  he  may — 
and  he  frequently  does — hand  down  two  hun- 
dred correct  rulings  in  less  than  two  hours;  but 
the  time  will  come  when,  right  under  his  nose, 
they  will  pull  a  play  that  he  doesn't  see.  Then, 
and  forever  afterward,  men  like  Peewee  Patter- 
son will  whisper  in  his  ear : 

"  Bill,  I  ain't  saying  nothing,  you  understand, 
but  if  I  was  you,  I'd  get  me  a  tin  cup,  and  a  sign, 
and  a  nice  sunny  place  on  the  sidewalk.  Honest, 
Bill,  that  was  the  worst  1  ever  see !  " 

Of  course,  His  Honor  can  reply,  aptly  enough : 

"  Ye-ah,  I  missed  it  all  right,  but  any  time  you 
boot  only  one  out  of  a  thousand  chances,  come 
around  and  tell  me  about  it ! " 

But  that  retort  never  reaches  the  fans  and 

260 


HIS  HONOR,  THE  UMPS  251 

hence  loses  most  of  its  effectiveness.  Simon  sits 
in  the  grand  stand  and  bleachers  and  perpetually 
signals  "  thumbs  down  "  for  the  umps.  But  let 
a  player,  who  has  fumbled  the  ball  all  through 
the  game,  come  up  in  the  ninth  inning  and  whang 
the  pill  over  the  fence,  then  Simon  shrieks: 
"  tliumbs  up !  "  and  takes  the  hero  to  his  bosom. 

These  things  are  beyond  even  an  umpire's 
philosophy,  but  he  learns  to  accept  them.  His 
viewpoint  is  the  opposite  of  the  fan  because  the 
good  of  the  game  requires  that  it  shall  be.  The 
fan  is  rabidly  partizan  and  a  hero  worshiper — ■ 
if  he  wasn't,  there  would  be  no  such  thing  as 
baseball.  But  the  umpire  is  forbidden  a  per- 
sonal interest  in  any  one,  be  it  busher  or  star, 
enemy  or  brother.  He  may  not  stop  at  the  same 
hotel  that  harbors  ball  players,  nor  travel  on  the 
same  train,  nor  eat  in  the  same  restaurant,  nor 
be  seen  chatting  chummily  on  the  street  with 
the  hard-working  sons  of  swat. 

He  depends  for  companionship  on  one  blue- 
bloused  associate;  counts  upon  luck  to  save  him 
from  too  many  tough  decisions  in  a  single  after- 
noon, learns  to  call  every  play  just  as  he  sees  it, 
and,  above  all  else — if  he  be  a  good  umpire  and 
desires  to  live — he  stands  by  his  decision,  right 
or  wrong,  until  the  last  box  score  is  approved  by 
the  Angel  Gabriel. 

That  is  all  you  need  to  know  about  the  profes- 


252       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

sion  in  general;  you  wouldn't  comprehend  any 
more  than  that,  unless  you  fingered  an  indicator 
yourself,  barked  through  an  umpire's  muzzle, 
and  discovered  how  easy  it  is  for  a  disgruntled 
catcher  to  step  back  and  accidentally  plant  his 
cleats  on  your  toes. 

Now,  concerning  Bill  Quimby  and  the  play 
that  he  missed. 

Five  months  of  the  year  Bill  was  an  ordinary, 
likeable  chap,  clean-shaven,  muscular,  sandy- 
haired,  habits  moral,  and  age  when  last  reported 
— 31.  During  the  section  of  the  year  referred 
to,  his  interests  ran  towards  agriculture  and 
ducks  on  the  wing — the  latter  preferably  mal- 
lards, flying  low  from  the  grain  fields  across 
an  irrigation  ditch  just  after  dawn.  The  bal- 
ance of  the  year,  Bill  was  an  umpire;  and  by 
just  that  proportion  of  months — 7  to  5 — Bill  was 
more  umpire  than  anything  else. 

At  the  close  of  one  season,  Bill  went  south 
from  Los  Angeles,  and  bought  himself  a  ranch  in 
the  Imperial  Valley  which,  twenty  years  ago, 
was  a  vast,  soul-sickening  thing  of  yellow  sand, 
and  to-day — boasts  ten  towns,  eighty  thousand 
people,  and  annual  crops  worth  over  sixty  mil- 
lions of  dollars.  Soil  and  sun,  plus  water  from 
the  Colorado,  wrought  the  miracle. 

BilFs  ranch  was  on  New  River,  just  south  of 
Superstition  Mountain.     It  wasn't  much  of  a 


HIS  HONOR,  THE  UMPS  253 

place,  just  a  quarter  section  of  twisted  mesquite, 
but  it  had  possibilities,  and  it  adjoined  the  Blue 
Circle  range,  owned  by  old  Jud  Mclntyre  who 
specialized  in  alfalfa  and  Herefords,  buried  two 
wives,  and  bought  himself  a  third — f.  o.  b.  St. 
Louis. 

There  is  no  accounting  for  the  luck  of  the  dia- 
mond, nor  the  puzzling  paths  shaped  by  Provi- 
dence. If  old  man  Mclntyre  hadn't  patronized 
that  matrimonial  agency,  his  daughter  never 
would  have  galloped  distractedly  over  the  range 
that  early  winter  morning;  her  pony  would  not 
have  stumbled  on  a  squirrel  hole,  and  Trissy  Mc- 
lntyre might  have  always  believed  that  the  only 
difference  between  an  umpire  and  the  sover- 
eignty of  Great  Britain  lay  in  the  pronuncia- 
tion. 

But  Providence  and  Bill  Quimby  were  both  on 
the  job  that  morning,  Providence  back  of  the 
scenes,  and  Bill  down  by  the  barbed  wire  fence, 
where  the  strands  are  pried  apart  and  a  foot  trail 
leads  toward  his  favorite  duck  blind. 

Bill  heard  the  rhythmical  drum  of  hoofs  break 
sharply.  He  looked  up  in  time  to  see  a  piebald 
pony  turn  a  pinwheel,  and  a  slim  figure  in  cor- 
duroys spin  off  to  the  right  and  flatten  out 
against  a  clump  of  sage.  The  pony  scrambled 
up,  trotted  off  a  short  distance,  and  then  re- 
turned. 


254       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

In  a  minute,  Quimby  was  at  the  girl's  side  try- 
ing clumsily  to  lift  her. 

"  I'm  all  right/'  she  demurred  shakily,  "  just 
let  me  lie  still  a  moment — my  breath — " 

He  nodded  sympathetically,  and  watched  her 
while  she  felt  with  small  hands  experimentally 
over  her  shoulders  and  arms,  and  then  down  to 
knees  and  ankles.  Apparently  satisfied,  she  re- 
verted to  the  instinct  of  Eve,  fluffed  her  hair, 
smoothed  her  skirts  and  smiled  up  at  Adam. 

"  Whew !  "  she  laughed,  "  that  was  a  whopper, 
wasn't  it?  I'm  Trissy  Mclntyre  and  I  live  back 
on  the  hill.    You  ranching  down  here?  " 

Quimby  shook  his  head  and  grinned  admir- 
ingly. He  liked  gameness,  on  and  off  the  ball 
field,  and  his  judgment  was  that  of  a  good  um- 
pire. He  decided  on  the  spot  that  he  liked  this 
girl.  No  one  could  have  found  fault  with  that 
decision,  for  Trissy  was  pleasant  to  look  upon. 
Her  skin  was  burned  by  the  desert  wind,  but  she 
had  clear  gray  eyes,  small  red  lips  and  a  spunky 
chin. 

"Nope,"  said  Bill,  "that's  my  shack  over 
there,  but  I  ain't  ranching  yet.  Me  and  some  ball 
players  are  doing  a  little  hunting.  My  name's 
Quimby — Bill  Quimby.  I'm  a  Coast  League  um- 
pire.   Sure  you're  not  hurt,  eh?  " 

"  Just  shaken  up,"  she  answered  lightly..  "  I've 
got  a  headache,  but  I'll  ride  it  off." 


HIS  HONOR,  THE  UMPS  255 

He  led  up  the  pony,  and  she  swung  lightly  into 
the  saddle.  There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  The 
man's  experience  with  women  had  never  included 
the  vision  of  a  girl  on  a  piebald  pony,  smiling 
down  at  him  with  brown  hair  blowing  across 
gray  eyes.  The  girl's  knowledge  of  men  was 
confined  to  a  different  type  than  that  she  now 
beheld.  She  had  not  the  slightest  idea  what  was 
meant  by  a  "  Coast  League  umpire,"  but  it 
sounded  interesting,  and  Bill  Quimby's  hand 
still  grasped  the  reins. 

"  Well,"  said  Trissy  Mclntyre,  "  I — I'm  glad 
we're  neighbors." 

"  I'll  say  so,"  he  echoed,  "  it's  pretty  lonely.  I 
was  thinking  only  yesterday  that  I  ought  to  try 
and  get  acquainted." 

The  girl  nodded.  "  I'd  ask  you  to  come  over, 
only  I  don't  get  along — that  is,"  she  amended 
hastily,  "  I'm  not  the  boss  of  the  place.  I  get 
most  of  my  fun  just  riding  around  on  Chiquita." 

Quimby  looked  up  hopefully.  "  I  got  a  Lizzie, 
but  perhaps  I  could  dig  up  some  kind  of  a  horse. 
If  you  were  riding  this  way  again  some  morning, 
maybe  you  wouldn't  mind  showing  me  a  little  of 
the  country.  One  of  these  days,  I'm  figuring  on 
settling  here  for  good." 

"Why,  I'd  be  glad  to!"- 

"To-morrow?" 

"  Perhaps." 


256       HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

"  I'll' be  here  at  this  time  to-morrow  morning.'' 

The  girl's  lips  parted,  revealing  white  teeth. 
Her  eyes  lighted  mischievously. 

"  All  right,  but  I'll  have  to  be  scurrying  for 
home  now."  She  shook  up  the  pony,  and  called 
back :    "  Glad  to  have  met  you !  " 

"  See  you  to-morrow,"  shouted  Quimby.  He 
watched  her  gallop  up  the  slope  of  the  mesa.  She 
gained  the  ridge,  waved  her  hand,  turned,  and 
cantered  slowly  along  the  table  land.  A  clump 
of  eucalyptus  blotted  out  girl  and  pony. 

That  ended  Bill  Quimby's  interest  in  mallards 
flying  low  over  an  irrigation  ditch  just  after 
dawn;  nor  did  he  show  any  longer  the  proper 
regard  for  the  entertainment  and  general  welfare 
of  his  guests. 

A  week  later,  Peewee  Patterson,  Rube  Fergu- 
son, Mike  Collender,  and  Digger  Grimes,  all 
celebrities  of  the  diamond,  and  honorable  men, 
packed  up  their  belongings  and  signified  their  in- 
tention to  depart.  Bill  loaded  the  outfit  into 
his  runabout  and  made  unnecessarily  fast  time 
to  the  station. 

Just  before  they  flagged  the  north-bound  local, 
the  midget  second  baseman  of  the  champion 
Wolves,  drew  His  Honor  aside. 

"  First  time  I  ever  knew  an  umps  to  show  any 
judgment,"  he  confided,  "she's  a  pip,  Bill,  and 
I  hope  you  sign  her  up." 


HIS  HONOR,  THE  UMPS  257 

The  others  ranged  alongside.  Collender,  the 
Vernon  southpaw,  extended  a  huge  hand. 

"  Well,  so  long,  Bill — had  a  good  time.  If  the 
little  cattle  queen  wants  any  recommendations — ^' 

"  Oh,  it  ain't  nothing  like  that,''  assured  Quim- 
by  hastily.  "  You  birds  better  save  your  kidding 
until  the  season  opens;  and  then  call  'em  when 
they're  over."  But  nevertheless  lie  colored  hotly, 
and  Peewee  screamed  at  the  spectacle. 

"  Pipe  what's  blushing !  "  he  implored,  "  why, 
Bill — ^you  look  almost  human !  " 

The  train  jerked  to  a  squeaky  stop  just  long 
enough  for  them  to  scramble  aboard.  Patterson 
stuck  his  head  through  an  open  window  of  the 
smoker,  and  bellowed  a  parting  shot: 

"  Hey,  Bill !  Keep  the  old  head  up  now.  Don't 
miss  no  plays  on  the  little  lady." 

Quimby  thrust  ten  fingers  in  the  dir.  tion  of 
the  vanishing  Peewee,  a  maneuver,  wiiich,  at 
other  times,  Patterson  would  have  interpreted 
correctly  as  a  neat  nick  in  his  monthly  recom- 
pense. The  little  infielder  applied  a  thumb  to 
his  sun-baked  nose.  Thus  was  the  seasonal 
authority  of  His  Honor  lightly  invoked  and  as 
delicately  repudiated. 

Bill  returned  to  his  ranch,  and  to  the  court- 
ship of  Trissy  Mclntyre.  For  an  umpire,  oper- 
ating under  rules  which  were  strange  to  him,  he 
batted  surprisingly  well.    It  may  be  that  Cupid 


258      HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

was  just  lobbing  the  ball  over  to  him,  or  Trissy 
was  tipping  off  the  signals.  Anyway,  it  wasn't 
long  before  they  benched  the  horses  in  favor  of 
Bill's  roadster,  and  made  the  astonishing  dis- 
covery that  the  moonlight,  the  stars,  the  ranch 
lights  twinkling  in  the  distance,  and  the  weird 
night  music  of  the  desert — were  all  provided  by 
the  Great  Groundkeeper  for  their  special  benefit. 

Quimby  weakened  only  once.  That  was  when 
he  got  his  contract  for  the  approaching  season. 
He  showed  the  document  to  Miss  Mclntyre  and 
then  determined  to  try  a  straight  ball  over  the 
plate,  trusting  like  Wild  Bill  Cassidy,  to  God  and 
the  outfielders.  But  his  control  was  atrocious, 
and  after  he  had  wobbled  for  half  an  hour,  get- 
ting wilder  every  minute,  Cupid  derricked  him 
in  favor  of  a  relief  pitcher. 

Trissy  put  the  first  ball  squarely  over  the  pan : 

"  You  mean  you  want  me.  Bill?  " 

His  Honor  gulped  and  came  up  for  air. 

"  Of  course  I  do !  what  do  you  think  I've  been 
talking  about  all  this  time?  " 

"  I  wasn't  sure,"  said  Trissy  demurely. 
''  Father  will  be  wild,  of  course,  but  if  you  really 
want  me.  Bill— I— I—" 

Bill  advanced  to  the  next  base  very  prettily. 
• 

Jud  Mclntyre  returned  from  a  roundup  on 
the  Big  Sur,  and  Quimby  rode  over  to  acquaint 


HIS  HONOR,  THE  UMPS  259 

him  with  the  news.  The  owner  of  the  Blue  Cir- 
cle had  been  compelled  to  unload  a  lot  of  beeves 
at  Kansas  City  on  a  falling  market,  and  he  was 
feeling  unharmonious.  He  held  his  temper  fairly 
well  until  Quimby  admitted  that  he  earned  only 
three  hundred  dollars  per  month,  seven  months 
in  the  year,  and  nothing  during  the  winter.  Then 
old  man  Mclntyre  took  the  field,  and  began  to 
warm  up. 

"Why,  you  mangy,  sheep-stealing  coyote — " 

Bill  Quimby  stiffened. 

"  You  busted,  flea-bitten  maverick !  Tryin'  to 
horn  your  way  into  the  clover,  eh?  Tryin'  to 
rope  yourself  a  meal  ticket  at  my  expense,  huh?  " 

His  Honor  drew  himself  very  erect.  Two 
bright  spots  bloomed  over  the  cheek-bones.  One 
foot  tapped  briskly  on  the  floor.  His  fingers 
twirled  mechanically  in  the  way  that  he  was 
wont  to  finger  the  celluloid  indicator  by  which 
he  recorded«?balls  and  strikes.  Any  player  in  the 
Coast  League  would  have  recognized  those  symp- 
toms and  have  appreciated  that  it  was  time  to 
lay  off  of  Bill  Quimby.  Old  man  Mclntyre 
rushed  blindly  on. 

"  Get  back  to  your  two-bit  homestead,  you  lazy 
bum — you  don't  eat  off  me!  An  umpire,  eh? 
Well,  damn  your  hide,  I'll  show  you — " 

Bill  Quimby  stepped  forward  and  grasped  the 
owner  of  the  Blue  Circle  ranch  by  the  elbows, 


260      HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

elevated  him  with  great  firmness,  and  consigned 
him  emphatically  to  the  depths  of  a  rocker  ten 
feet  distant.  Then  His  Honor  strode  over  and 
wagged  a  long  index  finger  under  the  nose  of  old 
man  Mclntyre. 

"You've  said  your  little  piece,"  he  hissed, 
"you're  through  for  the  day,  understand?  Go 
soak  your  head  under  the  showers!  Get  off  the 
field !    You're  out,  you're  out,  you're  out !  " 

He  stalked  over  to  the  door,  turned,  and  glared 
at  the  sputtering  old  man  in  the  chair. 

"  None  of  your  back  talk,"  he  snapped,  "  you 
stay  right  there !  Me  and  Trissy  are  going  to  be 
married  this  afternoon,  and  I  ain't  got  no  time 
to  bother  with  a  funeral." 

The  door  closed  behind  Bill  Quimby.  Miss  Mc- 
lntyre was  waiting  for  him  on  the  porch. 

"  How  did  it  come  out?  "  she  inquired. 

"  We  had  a  chin-wagging  match,"  he  told  her 
"  but  everything's  jake  now.  There  ain't  nobody 
going  to  tell  me  where  to  head  in  when  I'm  call- 
ing 'em ! " 

Trissy  giggled.  "Why,  Bill,  how  funny  you 
talk!" 

He  blinked  at  her  a  moment,  and  then  unbent. 

"  I  guess  I  got  to  thinking  I  was  on  the  ball 
field,"  he  explained.  "  You  go  get  your  things, 
honey,  and  then  we'll  wind  up  the  old  bus,  and 
light  out." 


HIS  HONOR,  THE  UMPS  261 

Old  man  Mclntyre  didn't  interfere.  His  third 
wife  was  down  at  El  Centre  arranging  for  the 
delivery  of  a  special  sedan  with  pink  upholstery. 
He  accepted  his  daughter's  farewell  embrace  si- 
lently, followed  her  out  on  the  porch  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves, and  watched  the  runabout  grind  dustily 
toward  the  state  highway.  When  the  machine 
was  out  of  sight,  he  spat  meditatively  at  a  lizard, 
and  reentered  the  house,  looking  rather  dazed. 

William  Quimby,  serving  his  fourth  term  as 
circuit  judge  in  the  court  of  the  diamond,  and 
Miss  Beatrice  Mclntyre,  daughter  of  Imperial's 
pioneer  cowman,  were  married  two  hours  later 
by  a  justice  of  the  peace  at  El  Cent.ro.  The  night 
train  bore  them  to  Los  Angeles  for  the  honey- 
moon. 

All  this  transpired,  if  you  will  remember,  dur- 
ing that  portion  of  the  year  when  His  Honor  had 
no  more  authority  than  a  Volstead  deputy  be- 
yond the  three  mile  limit.  He  was  as  free  of  re- 
sponsibility as  a  doughboy  on  leave;  as  immune 
from  worry  as  a  frog  in  a  puddle.  There  was 
nothing  to  mar  the  connubial  bliss  of  pretty  Mrs. 
Quimby,  nor  cloud  the  happiness  of  the  lord  of 
the  little  housekeeping  apartment  on  Sunset 
Boulevard,  a  thoroughfare  which  bisects  the 
cinema  colony  at  Hollywood. 

They  patronized  Los  Angeles  rubberneck 
chariots,  the  nickel  dances  at  the  beaches,  "  raced 


262      HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

through  the  clouds"  at  Venice,  and  ascended  Mt. 
Lowe,  the  magnet  for  all  honeymooners  in  South- 
ern California. 

Then  came  the  opening  week  assignments,  and 
Quimby  found  that  he  was  once  again  paired  off 
with  "  Bull "  Feeney,  and  scheduled  to  start  the 
season  at  San  Francisco.  Bill's  bride  went  north 
with  him,  and  there  discovered  on  Opening  Day 
what  a  really  great  man  she  had  married.  It 
was  the  largest  herd  of  human  beings  she  had 
ever  seen  in  her  life,  and  there  was  not  the  slight- 
est doubt  from  the  start,  that  Bill  Quimby  was 
foreman  of  the  roundup.  At  his  signal  the  pro- 
ceedings started;  his  voice  filled  the  park;  his 
padded  figure  crouching  behind  the  catcher,  el- 
bows turned  out  like  a  huge  potato  bug,  expressed 
the  majesty  of  the  law.  When  Bill  waved  his 
arm  one  way  every  one  seemed  anxious;  when  he 
issued  another  command,  the  crowd  appeared 
greatly  relieved.  Once,  when  some  player  slid 
along  the  ground  at  BilFs  feet,  and  His  Honor 
spread  out  both  hands,  palms  downward,  the 
multitude  arose  and  shouted  for  three  whole  min- 
utes. No  one  took  the  trouble  to  inform  Mrs. 
Quimby  that  the  cheering  was  intended  for  the 
player  and  not  at  all  for  her  husband.  That  was 
just  as  well,  as  she  wouldn't  have  paid  any  at- 
tention to  such  a  base  insinuation.  Why,  any- 
body who  didn't  even  know  a  thing  about  base- 


HIS  HONOR,  THE  UMPS  263 

ball,  could  see  that  the  umpire  managed  the  whole 
affair! 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Quimby  was  getting  by 
very  nicely.  Umpires  always  find  the  first  month 
or  two  comparatively  easy.  Every  one  is  rested 
up  and  feeling  good  natured.  The  crowd  is  not 
over  critical.  Managers  are  experimenting,  and 
there  is  a  general  appreciation  of  the  fact  that 
it  isn't  how  a  ball  club  starts  that  matters,  but 
where  it  finishes. 

Even  men  like  Brick  McGovern,  manager  of 
the  champion  Wolves,  and  Peewee  Patterson,  his 
second  baseman,  admitted  that  "  Bill  was  going 
pretty  good."  That  was  quite  a  concession  for 
them  to  make,  for  they  operated  on  the  well-es- 
tablished policy  of  hounding  the  umps  into  be- 
lieving they  were  always  getting  the  worst  of  his 
decisions.  That  helped  to  dissuade  the  man  in 
blue  from  calling  the  next  close  play  against 
them,  and  on  the  ball  field  every  little  helps. 

"  Home  cooking  seems  to  agree  with  the  old 
boy,''  said  Peewee. 

McGovern  grunted  an  afl&rmative.  "  Bill's  a 
good  umps  all  right,  but  he'll  begin  missing  'ein 
one  of  these  days ;  they  all  do  that  just  when  you 
need  a  game  most." 

"  Nice  little  wife  he's  got." 

"Ye-ah — she's  nice  little  lady  all  right.  I 
guess  Bill's  a  good  square  guy  too,  though  I  can't 


264      HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

see  why  a  woman  would  want  to  marry  him.  Tie- 
ing  up  with  a  ball  player  is  bad  enough,  but  an 
umpire — good  night!  '^ 

Nevertheless,  Mrs.  Quimby  toured  the  circuit 
with  her  husband,  and  seemed  to  be  eminently 
satisfied.  It  wasn't  until  the  middle  of  June, 
when  they  resumed  housekeeping  in  Los  Angeles, 
that  the  first  rift  appeared  in  Hymen's  lute.  By 
that  time,  the  judicial  mantle  had  become  a  con- 
spicuous part  of  His  Honor's  daily  attire.  His 
responsibilities  tightened,  his  worries  increased, 
and  it  became  necessary  for  him  to  enforce  dis- 
cipline more  and  more  among  the  players.  He 
accomplished  his  duty  conscientiously  and  with 
dispatch,  taking  his  work  with  increasing  seri- 
ousness as  a  good  umpire  should  do.  The  eve- 
nings always  brought  full  recompense  in  a  visit 
to  the  movies,  with  Trissy's  arm  linked  in  his 
own,  or  a  neighborly  game  of  cards  with  the 
Siegels,  who  lived  on  the  floor  just  below. 

Then  one  night,  a  critical  play  developed  right 
under  his  nose,  and  he  blundered  appallingly. 
In  Bill's  defense,  it  should  be  borne  in  mind  that 
his  profession  calls  for  snap  judgment,  swift, 
arbitrary  and  unhesitating.  He  can't  stop  to 
think  it  over,  can't  permit  sentiment  to  sway 
him;  can't  appeal  for  advice.  He  must  call  the 
play  the  way  he  sees  it  instantly,  and — right  or 
wrong — stand  by  his  ruling.    In  that  important 


HIS  HONOR,  THE  UMPS  265 

respect,  the  umpire  differs  from  every  other  in- 
terpreter of  justice. 

Bill  was  sitting  in  an  easy  chair  after  supper, 
reading  the  night  sporting  extras.  He  had 
worked  through  a  double-header  between  the 
Wolves  and  the  Tigers,  two  teams  that  are  spe- 
cialists in  the  gentle  art  of  umpire-baiting.  His 
Honor  was  tired.  In  the  kitchen,  Mrs.  Quimby 
was  putting  away  the  dishes. 

Crash! 

His  Honor  frowned.  Trissy  was  usually  very 
careful  about  the  dishes,  but  lately  it  did  seem 
that  she  was  always  dropping  things — breaking 
almost  everything  she  touched.  He  pondered 
over  this  phenomenon  until  into  his  disturbed 
mind  floated  the  recollection  of  other  incidents, 
equally  peculiar.  For  almost  two  weeks  now, 
Trissy  had  acted  strangely.  Their  suppers  were 
no  longer  the  daintily  prepared  repasts  in  which 
he  delighted.  The  food  savored  strongly  of  the 
delicatessen  counter.  The  apartment  was  dusty 
and  disorderly,  revealing  every  evidence  of  neg- 
lect. For  some  reason,  a  model  housekeeper 
like  Trissy  was  no  longer  interested  in  her 
work. 

His  Honor  was  troubled.  Like  a  good  man- 
ager, who  sees  a  promising  recruit  sluff  off  in  his 
work,  Quimby  strove  to  analyze  the  difficulty. 
He  loved  and  worshiped  his  wife  in  the  plain, 


266       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

single-track  way  of  a  man  who  had  never  had 
much  dealings  with  the  opposite  sex.  But  he 
was  stubborn  and  proud,  and  not  altogether  blind 
to  the  fact  that  some  of  the  boys  seemed  sur- 
prised that  he  had  won  a  girl  like  Trissy.  Could 
she  be — 

Crash! 

This  time,  His  Honor  jumped  to  his  feet. 
Above  the  clatter  of  broken  china  on  the  lino- 
leum floor,  came  a  burst  of  wild  laughter  that 
offended  his  sensibilities.  Quimby  was  quite  un- 
versed in  hysteria.  That  shrill  merriment 
sound.pd  to  him  silly  and  entirely  out  of  place. 
It  seemed,  in  fact,  a  flat  challenge  that  called  for 
some  sort  of  action.  He  strode  into  the  kitchen, 
glared  at  the  litter  on  the  floor,  and  then  at  the 
slim  figure  in  gingham,  leaning  against  the 
sink,  and  still  convulsed  with  unreasoning 
hilarity. 

This  was  where  His  Honor  missed  the  play 
entirely.  Any  married  woman  after  one  good 
look  at  Mrs.  Quimby,  would  have  put  her  arms 
around  Trissy's  shoulders,  and  exclaimed: 
"  There,  there,  child,  let  the  old  dishes  alone, 
and  we'll  go  into  the  room  and  have  a  nice  long 
talk." 

Even  the  third  Mrs.  Mclntyre  would  have  done 
that  much,  but  there  was  no  woman  around — 
only  Umpire  William  Quimby,  standing  there 


HIS  HONOR,  THE  UMPS  267 

with  his  lips  compressed,  his  arms  folded,  and 
cold  condemnation  in  his  eye. 

It  needed  nothing  more  than  that  look  from 
her  husband,  to  complete  the  little  woman's  sur- 
render to  her  nerves. 

"  Don't  you  look  at  me  like  that !  "  screamed 
Mrs.  Quimby,  "  don't — ^you — do — ^it !  Honest  to 
God,  Bill,  I'll  break  every  dish — I'll  throw  'em 
right  on  the  floor!  Go  away  from  me,  do  you 
hear?  Don't  even  look  at  me!  I  can't  stand  it 
—I— I—" 

Crash! 

Quimby  should  have  known  better  than  that, 
but  the  best  umpires  in  the  world  have  their  off 
days  when  there  is  nothing  under  the  old  cap  but 
solid  ivory.  The  play  seemed  clear  enough  to 
to  him,  and  on  the  spot  he  voiced  his  conclusion, 
striding  over  and  grasping  his  wife's  wrists.  Two 
bright  spots  appeared  over  either  cheek  bone,  his 
jaw  muscles  bulged. 

"  Cut  that  sort  of  bunk  right  now,"  he  ordered. 
^'  I  ain't  no  fool.  You're  playing  for  your  release, 
and  I  get  you !  You  don't  have  to  poison  me,  or 
bust  no  furniture.  I'm  through — you're  free  as 
the  air ! " 

His  wife  ceased  fluttering  in  his  grasp,  and 
looked  up. 

"W-what?" 


268       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

He  misinterpreted  her  sudden  calm  for  ac- 
quiescence to  his  viewpoint.  Her  wrists  were 
released,  and  he  stepped  back. 

"  Guess  I  called  the  play,  huh?  Somebody's 
tipped  you  off  that  you're  too  good  for  an  umpire, 
and  you  want  to  get  out  of  the  contract?  Well, 
you  don't  have  to  lay  down  on  the  job,  under- 
stand? I  ain't  got  no  strings  on  you  a-tall.  Just 
trot  right  back  to  old  Moneybags,  and  try  your 
luck  again ! " 

Trissy's  face  went  sheet  white,  and  then  the 
rush  of  color  returned.  She  opened  her  mouth 
three  times,  and  then  closed  it  grimly.  Not  for 
nothing  was  she  the  daughter  of  old  Jud  Mc- 
Intyre. 

"  Get  down  on  your  knees  and  tell  me  you 
made  a  mistake !  "  she  said  quietly,  "  kneel  down. 
Bill— quick !  " 

In  all  his  life.  Bill  Quimby  had  never  heard 
such  an  amazing  demand  as  that!  He  folded 
his  arms  and  glared  at  her. 

"  Anytime  I  get  down  on  my  knees  to  reverse 
a  fair  decision,"  he  informed  her,  "  a  team  of 
Chinks  will  win  the  National  League  pennant  on 
Christmas !  " 

"  Suit  yourself,"  said  Mrs.  Quimbly  coldly, 
"  and  whenever  you  change  your  mind,  you  can 
write  me.'^ 

She  went  into  the  bedroom  and  locked  the  door. 


HIS  HONOR,  THE  UMPS  269 

Until  far  into  the  night,  he  could  hear  her  mov- 
ing around,  and  he  realized  that  she  was  pack- 
ing her  things.  His  Honor  went  out  and  regis- 
tered at  a  near-by  hotel.  Just  before  he  finally 
fell  asleep  along  toward  morning,  he  addressed 
himself  to  the  chandelier. 

"  It's  either  this  or  that/'  he  argued  drowsily. 
"  There's  no  middle  ground.  A  man  muffs  it  or 
he  doesn't;  it's  a  fair  ball  or  it's  foul;  if  a  man 
ain't  safe,  he's  out,  and  there's  no  use  stallin'. 
Ye-ah,  you  said  it,  Brother — that  was  one  hell 
of  a  tough  play  to  call,  but  I  had  the  right  angle 
— I  must  have  had  it.  I  was  right  there,  I — 
was — right — I — was — " 

His  Honor  was  summoned  to  the  plate  by  Mor- 
pheus. 

The  days  merged  into  weeks,  and  the  weeks 
into  months ;  the  god  of  baseball  sifted  his  min- 
ions until  the  weaker  clubs  assumed  their  proper 
place  and  there  remained  in  the  first  division 
only  the  logical  contenders.  Bill  Quimby  clung 
stubbornly  to  his  post  of  duty  and  to  his  deci- 
sions; but  there  remained  ever  in  his  conscious- 
ness the  vision  of  a  slim  figure  in  a  ging- 
ham dress  laughing  wildly  over  a  broken 
dish. 

"  I  don't  know  what's  eating  that  guy,"  said 
Jiggs  Baker,  first  baseman  for  the  Blues.    Jiggs 


270       HEAKTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

was  sitting  in  the  dugout,  staring  at  Umpire 
Quimby. 

"  Did  you  see  that  last  strike  he  called  on  me? 
I  couldn't  have  reached  it  with  a  telegraph  pole. 
All  I  says  to  him  was:  *  Wait  a  minute,  Bill, 
until  I  climb  up  on  the  roof,'  and  he  says: 
^  Never  mind  climbing — just  keep  on  talking,  and 
['11  knock  you  up  there ! '  " 

Ainsmith,  a  right  bander  from  Texas,  chimed 
in  corroboratively.  "  Last  week  down  at  Ver- 
non he  come  over  in  the  fifth  inning  and  give 
everybody  on  the  bench  the  bum's  rush — chased 
us  all  to  the  clubhouse.  And  we  wasn't  saying 
a  word,  mind  you !  The  guy  that  was  doing  all 
the  razzing  was  a  fan  in  a  box  just  back  of  the 
dugout.  I  guess  that  ain't  missing  'em.  Bill's  a 
hot  dog!" 

It  was  just  as  well  that  Quimby  didn't  hear 
too  much  of  that  sort  of  comment.  His  Honor 
had  already  enough  to  worry  about.  For  the 
first  time  in  his  career  on  the  diamond.  Bill's 
confidence  in  his  own  judgment  was  badly  shaken. 
He  no  longer  considered  himself  infallible,  but 
strove  with  painful  anxiety  to  avoid  the  numer- 
ous pitfalls  that  lie  in  the  path  of  an  umpire. 
Wherefore  he  became  afflicted  with  fear,  which 
is  a  toxic  that  attacks  the  soul.  He  was  not 
afraid  of  the  players,  nor  of  the  crowd,  but  of 
himself.    He  operated  in  constant  dread  that  he 


HIS  HONOR,  THE  UMPS  271 

would  pass  judgment  on  plays  before  they  were 
actually  completed,  the  most  common  of  all  judi- 
cial errors;  or,  that  he  would  hesitate  too  long, 
and  thus  betray  indecision.  He  feared  that  he 
would  fall  into  the  class  of  arbiters  who  decide 
close  plays  in  favor  of  the  home  club,  and  like 
every  honest  son  of  the  diamond,  Bill  had  su- 
preme contempt  for  a  "  homer.''  He  realized 
that  he  was  acquiring  a  dread  of  close  games, 
and  extra-inning  battles;  and  that  he  felt  the 
strain  of  working  behind  pitchers  like  "  Lefty  " 
Wade,  whose  curve  ball  had  a  tendency  every 
now  and  then  to  "  break ''  a  great  deal  wider 
than  usual,  thereby  "  crossing  "  the  man  behind 
the  plate. 

But  worse  than  all,  Bill  Quimby  was  tor- 
mented by  a  loneliness  that  is  not  to  be  under- 
stood save  by  those  who  have  traveled  an  um- 
pire's path,  and  seen  the  one  lamp  that  illumi- 
nated life's  thoroughfare,  extinguished — leaving 
the  darkness  a  great  deal  more  oppressive  than 
a  man  should  be  required  to  bear. 

Sooner  or  later,  these  things  are  bound  to  be 
reflected  in  a  man's  work.  Quimby  became  su- 
per-sensitive to  criticism;  over  eager  to  retain 
the  authority  he  sensed  was  slipping.  Hence, 
the  players  rode  him,  and  the  fans  followed  suit, 
for  that,  mark  you,  is  part  of  the  game.    Rattle 


272      HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

the  umps,  and  the  men  who  get  to  his  side  first 
in  a  crisis,  have  an  undeniable  advantage. 

"  Peewee  "  Patterson  didn't  mean  any  harm. 
He  saw  that  Bill  was  a  bit  wobbly  and  he  didn't 
stop  to  figure  out  any  reason.  Being  a  lead-off 
man  for  his  club,  and  therefore  keen  to  reach 
first  base  by  any  means  possible,  Peewee  always 
tried  to  work  His  Honor  for  a  base  on  balls, 
whenever  Bill  was  calling  'em. 

The  midget  was  a  mighty  difficult  man  to  pitch 
to ;  he  crowded  the  plate,  and  had  a  trick  of  low- 
ering his  body  on  a  pitched  ball.  Sometimes 
Quimby  realized  that  he  had  made  a  mistake  the 
moment  after  he  had  committed  himself  by  a 
wave  of  the  hand  and  a  bellow,  but  of  course  it 
was  too  late  then  to  rectify  the  error. 

Peewee  had  a  way  of  emphasizing  these 
blunders  by  looking  at  His  Honor  with  a  faint, 
pitying  grin.  Once,  he  significantly  handed 
Quimby  a  lead  pencil — another  time  a  shoelace, 
both  planted  in  his  hip  pocket  for  that  special 
purpose.  On  a  third  occasion,  he  continued  look- 
ing at  the  pitcher,  but  twisted  his  lips  so  that 
His  Honor  could  get  the  message: 

"  Poor  old  Bill,  he  can't  see  nothing  any  more. 
Pretty  soon  he'll  be  out  on  the  sidewalk,  tapping 
along  with  his  cane,  and  I  knew  him  well,  too !  " 

That  little  speech  cost  the  midget  five  dollars 
but  the  club  paid  all  fines,  recording  them  under 


I 


HIS  HONOR,  THE  UMPS  273 

the  head  of  miscellaneous  expenses,  so  Peewee 
held  persistently  to  his  course.  Time  passed; 
summer  waned;  the  race  tightened;  and  Bill 
Quimby,  always  haunted  by  that  doubtful  deci- 
sion, struggled  stubbornly  against  many  handi- 
caps. 

The  climax  came,  logically  enough,  in  the 
twelfth  inning  of  a  game  which  marked  the  final 
series  between  the  Wolves  and  the  Angels.  It 
was  played  before  twenty  thousand  Los  Angeles 
fans  who  crowded  the  Vernon  grounds  on  the 
last  Sunday  morning  of  the  season.  His  Honor 
was  working  behind  the  plate,  and  all  through 
the  contest,  the  luck  of  the  game  had  been  run- 
ning strongly  against  him.  There  had  been  too 
many  close  decisions  against  the  home  club.  The 
Angels  needed  that  game  to  retain  their  slender 
hold  on  first  place,  and  they  were  fighting  for 
every  point  with  the  crowd  behind  them  to  a 
man.  Three  times  in  as  many  innings,  a  man  in 
an  Angel  uniform  raced  for  the  plate  with  what 
promised  to  be  the  winning  run,  only  to  be  ruled 
out  by  Bill  Quimby  on  a  hair  line  decision.  That 
sort  of  thing  drives  a  ball  club  to  desperation, 
and  makes  the  home  crowd  see  red.  Yet  His 
Honor  was  calling  every  play  exactly  as  he  saw 
it,  and  his  verdicts  were  never  more  conscien- 
tiously rendered,  for  instinct  warned  him  a 
crisis  was  at  hand. 


274      HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

A  play,  which  he  recognized  intuitively  as  the 
one,  developed  in  the  first  half  of  the  twelfth 
inning,  with  two  men  out,  and  the  score  still 
standing  5  to  5.  Rube  Ferguson,  heavy-hitting 
outfielder  for  the  Wolves,  straightened  out  the 
first  curve  and  drove  the  ball  hard  and  high  be- 
tween left  and  center. 

The  crowd  arose,  quivering  and  noisy,  eyes  in- 
tent on  the  Angel  outfielders  stringing  out  in  a 
relay  for  the  return  throw.  Ferguson  flashed 
past  first  and  second,  in  a  broadening  circle, 
Umpire  Bull  Feeney  trailing  him  to  see  that  the 
runner  touched  every  bag.  But  Quimby,  watch- 
ing developments  with  trained  eyes,  realized  that 
Bull  would  not  have  to  give  the  decision.  The 
play  would  be  completed  at  the  plate,  and  that 
meant  a  home  run  or  not,  just  as  Bill  happened 
to  see  it. 

Ferguson's  flying  spikes  thrust  desperately  at 
third,  and  he  wheeled  into  line  with  the  plate. 
The  Angel  shortstop,  crouching  in  short  center, 
took  the  throw,  spun  around,  and  let  fly. 

Quimby  recognized  at  once  that  the  throw 
was  destined  to  be  perfect,  and  that  again  Fate 
had  sent  him  a  tough  decision,  this  time  with 
the  positions  of  the  two  clubs  reversed.  His  hand 
tossed  to  one  side  the  mask  he  had  been  holding. 
He  sprang  forward  with  his  back  to  the  in-com- 
ing ball,  and  his  eyes  riveted  on  Catcher  Wil- 


HIS  HONOR,  THE  UMPS  275 

liams,  legs  spread  across  the  plate,  body  braced 
and  hands  stretched  out  imploringly. 

"  Got  to  get  this  one,"  whispered  His  Honor, 
"  got  to  get  it — got  to — " 

And  then  the  ball  was  swept  up  by  the  catcher, 
Rube  Ferguson  slid  in,  and  the  two  men  went 
down  together  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  The  ball  had 
beaten  the  runner. 

Quimby's  right  arm  started  an  upward  sweep 
with  the  thumb  pointed  over  the  shoulder,  but 
the  gesture  was  never  completed.  His  quick  eye 
detected  something  that  no  one  else  in  the  ball 
park  was  in  a  position  to  see. 

The  hall  had  been  dropped! 

Williams'  writhing  body  concealed  from  all 
but  Bill  Quimby  that  leather  sphere  lying  mo- 
mentarily in  the  dirt.  The  catcher's  groping 
hand  closed  upon  the  ball  in  the  fraction  of  a 
second,  but  His  Honor,  the  Umps,  had  seen  what 
he  had  seen.  Down  went  both  hands,  palms  out- 
ward. 

"  Safe!  "  yelled  Bill  Quimby. 

And  then  he  stepped  back  and  faced  them,  one 
man  against  twenty  thousand. 

"  Now  bring  on  your  rough  stuff,"  he  chal- 
lenged, "  who  starts  it?  " 

Oh,  they  got  him,  all  right — got  him  good!  It 
was  a  woman  who  applied  the  coup  de  grace; 


276      HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

not  a  girl  with  brown  hair  blowing  across  gray 
eyes,  but  a  slatternly  half-witted  thing  of  the 
bleachers.  She  was  in  the  crowd  that  waited 
outside  for  Bill  Quimby  when  he  emerged  from 
the  park,  bleeding  and  disheveled,  and  protected 
by  a  circle  of  men  armed  with  bats.  Ball  players 
may  ride  an  umpire  in  their  own  way,  but  in  a 
show  down  with  a  rioting  crowd,  he  is  their 
brother,  and  they  will  guard  him  with  their  lives. 

The  woman  of  the  bleachers  worked  her  way 
crazily  to  the  umpire's  shoulder,  and  spat  at 
him. 

"  Yah,"  she  shrilled,  "  you  rotten  thief ! '' 

The  crowd  hooted,  surged  forward,  and  egged 
her  on.  Quimby  looked  at  his  feminine  assail- 
ant, and  his  lips  curled  contemptuously.  That 
was  a  mistake.  The  woman  clawed  her  way  out 
of  the  crowd,  and  in  a  minute  eased  back  again, 
with  something  she  had  grabbed  from  the  coun- 
ter of  a  curbstone  lunch  wagon.  Her  fingers 
wrenched  off  the  cover  of  a  small  can,  and 
emptied  the  contents  into  her  cupped  hand.  She 
elbowed  her  way  to  Quimby's  side,  and  shrieked 
into  his  ear. 

"  Hey,  Bill — look  what  I  got  for  you — ^look 
here." 

Mechanically,  he  turned  in  her  direction,  and 
the  next  instant  he  collapsed  into  the  arms  of 
Peewee  Patterson,  both  eyes  filled  with  a  fine 


HIS  HONOR,  THE  UMPS  277 

pungent  substance  that  brought  quick  agony  and 
blindness.    The  woman  fled. 

"Pepper,"  gasped  Bill  Quimby,  "my  eyes — 
I'm  gone.    Peewee,  are  you  there?  " 

The  little  infielder  was  there;  so  were  Rube 
Ferguson,  Truck  Darrow,  Cy  Foster  and  a  host 
of  others.  They  scattered  the  crowd  with  one 
impetuous  onslaught,  and  then  swarmed  around 
the  moaning  Quimby. 

"  Easy,  old  man,"  cried  Peewee,  "  you're  among 
friends.  Hang  on  to  my  arm  and  we'll  find  a 
doc'!  Keep  the  old  head  up.  Bill — ^hold  on  to 
the  old  nerve !  " 

They  rushed  him  back  to  the  clubhouse  and 
into  the  hands  of  Blinker  Burke,  but  the  trainer 
had  no  means  of  unlocking  the  tortured  eyes  so 
that  they  could  be  washed  out.  Precious  minutes 
were  being  wasted  while  conjunctivitis  set  in. 

"Get  him  to  the  hospital,"  advised  Blinker, 
"you  got  to  use  cocaine  solution  on  them  eyes, 
and  then  boracic  acid — even  then  I  don't 
know — " 

They  commandeered  a  machine,  and  on  the 
way  to  the  Washington  street  hospital,  Bill 
Quimby  temporarily  went  out  of  his  head. 

"Lead  pencils  and  a  tin  cup,"  he  babbled, 
"  I'm  blind,  Peewee  knows  I'm  blind — " 

"  No  you  ain't,  Bill — just  keep  the  old  head  up 
— don't  throw  that  back  at  me,  Bill — ^you  know 


278       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

I  was  only  kidding — only  kidding,  that's  all  I 
was  doing.  We're  all  for  you,  Bill — all  for  you, 
old  man." 

"My  wife,  Peewee — ^she  broke  a  few  lousy 
plates,  and  I  razzed  her.  Now  I  won't  never 
see  her  again — can't  even  write  to  her — she'll  be 
off  me  worse  than  ever — a  poor,  old  blind  stiff  on 
the  sidewalk — sunny  spot,  Peewee,  you  said — " 

"  Don't  talk  like  that,"  entreated  the  midget, 
"  you're  the  best  damn  umpire  in  the  league,  Bill ; 
and  you'll  be  calling  'em  long  after  us  guys  are 
through.  Here  we  are,  fellows — ^grab  hold  now 
and  rush  him  along." 

The  baseball  fan  is  a  peculiar  animal.  No 
sooner  did  the  news  spread  that  Bill  Quimby  was 
in  the  hospital  and  might  go  blind,  than  thou- 
sands recalled  him  as  the  very  best  umpire  they 
had  ever  seen.  Big  Carl  Williams  did  the  right 
thing.  Before  the  start  of  the  afternoon  game, 
he  accompanied  the  official  announcer  into  the 
center  of  the  diamond,  and  at  the  catcher's 
prompting,  Foghorn  Reilly  megaphoned  the  ex- 
planation of  that  morning  play.  The  morning 
papers  made  it  still  more  plain,  with  statements 
signed  by  every  man  on  both  clubs,  asserting  that 
Bill  Quimby  was  the  squarest  umpire  that  ever 
brushed  off  a  plate,  and  that  he  belonged  in  the 
majors. 


HIS  HONOR,  THE  UMPS  279 

But  Peewee  Patterson  did  the  most  sensible 
thing.  He  put  two  and  two  together,  and  shot  a 
telegram  to  Mrs.  William  Quimby,  care  of  the 
Blue  Circle  ranch.  Peewee  smacked  the  ball 
right  on  the  nose  in  that  wire,  because  he  knew 
more  about  women  than  Bill  Quimby.  The  mes- 
sage was  not  delivered  right  away,  because  Trissy 
wasn't  at  the  Blue  Circle  ranch.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  she  never  had  been.  She  was  at  His  Honor's 
scrubby  homestead  on  New  River,  where  every 
day  the  Los  Angeles  papers  came  by  mail,  with 
Bill  Quimby 's  name  at  the  bottom  of  the  box 
score. 

"  Gimpy "  Roberts,  foreman,  rode  over  with 
the  yellow  envelope,  and  ten  minutes  later — he 
had  the  buckboard  out,  and  was  driving  Mrs. 
Quimby  toward  the  station,  striving  to  get  there 
quickly,  and  yet  aware  that  the  little  woman  at 
his  side  must  be  carefully  •handled. 

The  next  morning  at  8 :  10  by  the  nurse's  wrist 
watch,  they  replenished  the  compress  on  Bill 
Quimby 's  eyes  and  told  him  his  wife  was  just 
outside  the  door. 

"  My  wife — my — to  see  me?  "  His  Ht)nor^s 
voice  trembled.  "  Wait  a  moment — am  I  ever 
going  to  see  again?  " 

The  nurse  smiled.  "Why,  of  course:— you'll 
be  all  right  to-morrow — just  as  soon  as  the  in- 
flammation goes  away." 


280       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

"  Then  I'm  going  to  get  right  down  on  the  old 
knees — let  me  get  out  of  bed — where  is  she? 
Right  down  on  the  old  knees  I  go — " 

But  Trissy  came  in,  and  helped  the  nurse  to 
hold  His  Honor  flat  on  his  judicial  back.  He 
sensed  whose  arms  were  about  his  neck,  and  he 
held  them  tight. 

"  I  was  a  dog,"  he  whispered,  "  I  didn't  have 
no  right  to  talk  to  my  own  little  honey  girl  like 
that ;  I'm  a  hound — " 

«  Hush,  Bill—" 

"  A  measly  hound — " 

"  No,  no — dear — ^it  was  all  my  fault.  Bill — all 
my  fault.  I  was  crazy — but  it's  all  right  now. 
Dad's  all  alone  again — and  he  wants  us  both. 
...  I  been  working  our  place,  Bill — ^it  looks 
fine." 

"  But  I  got  to  apologize.  Babe — I  got  to  get 
down  on  my  knees  like  you  said — what  should  I 
care  for  dishes — " 

"  But  I  should  have  explained,  Bill — only  I 
wasn't  sure  then.  Pretty  soon.  Bill,  you'll  un- 
derstand what  made  me  act  so  funny.  .  .  . 
There's  somebody  coming  to  bind  us  both  to- 
gether so  there  won't  ever  be  any  more  misunder- 
standings— somebody  all  our  own !  " 

"  Oh! "  said  His  Honor,  as  he  caught  the  cor- 
rect angle  at  last.  "  Oh !  "  and  reached  for  her 
lips.    "  Going  to  give  old  Bill  a  taste  of  his  own 


HIS  HONOR,  THE  UMPS  281 

medicine,  eh?  Going  to  make  him  take  orders 
from  a  real  umps — one  that  will  wave  ten  little 
toesies  at  us  if  we  get  fresh,  eh?  Bend  down,  you 
old  honey  girl?  " 

"And,  Bill—" 

"  Yes,  honey." 

"  You  remember  there  were  three  plates — they 
say — they  say — that  almost  always  means  a 
boy!" 


ELEPHANT'S  WAY 

Trampled  a  tiger,  then  fled  from  a  mouse; 
Cuddled  a  baby,  then  knocked  down  a  house ; 
Mountain  of  awkwardness,  swift  as  the  rain, 
Wise  in  the  matters  that  none  can  explain — 
Does  not  the  Rajah  of  Mahara  say 
Elephants  love  in  an  elephant's  way? 

— From  "My  Love,  the  Elephant!'' 

THERE  was  a  poker  game  going  on  in  the 
clubhouse  beyond  center  field.  The  boom 
of  ten  thousand  voices  floated  across  the 
green  expanse,  and  presently  a  ball  came  bound- 
ing through  the  open  door.  Everybody  rushed 
to  the  windows  and  popped  their  heads  out  like 
a  lot  of  prairie-dogs. 

"  I'll  be  a  son  of  a  gun,"  yelled  Blinker  Burke, 
"  it's  the  elephant !     Go  it,  you  dumb-bell !  " 

A  gigantic  man  in  a  Bruin  uniform  floundered 
past  first  base,  and  headed  for  second,  gathering 
speed  as  he  ran.  Back  of  him  whooped  four 
coachers,  urging  him  on. 

"  What's  he  running  for?  "  cried  Cy  Frawley, 
"The  ball's  out  of  sight  of  the  umpire;  he  can 
walk  in !  '^ 

"Jumbo  don't  know  where  the  ball  is,"  ex- 

282 


ELEPHANT^S  WAY  283 

plained  the  trainer,  "  He  was  never  further  than 
first  base  in  his  life.  Patsy's  trying  to  flag  him, 
and  everybody  else  is  yelling  him  on.  Ain't  that 
rich?  He'll  ^run  himself  to  death.  Go  on, 
Jumbo!" 

Inspired  by  a  fresh  burst  of  terrific  yells,  the 
exhausted  giant  stampeded  over  third  base  and, 
ignoring  the  frantic  signals  of  his  manager, 
headed  desperately  for  the  home  plate.  Half 
way  down  the  base  line,  Umpire  Bull  Feeney 
galloped  alongside,  lending  joyous  escort,  and 
Catcher  Mike  McLaughlin,  joined  the  procession, 
bellowing  in  Jumbo's  ear : 

"Run!  Run!  Run!" 

When  catcher,  umpire  and  runner  all  slid  over 
the  plate  at  ^  the  same  time  in  a  cloud  of  dust, 
even  the  official  scorer,  who  is /by  all  odds  the 
gloomiest  individual  in  baseball,  got  down  on  the 
floor  and  waved  his  heels  in  the  air.  It  was  ten 
minutes  before  play  was  resumed,  and  then  it 
was  necessary  to  warm  up  another  pitcher  be- 
cause Jumbo  was  ruined  for  the  balance  of  the 
day. 

"  I'll  protest  the  game,"  raved  Degman,  "  Bull, 
you  had  no  business  shooing  him  home !  " 

"  I  wasn't  shooing  him,"  said  Feeney,  wiping 
the  tears  from  his  eyes,  and  the  dust  from  his 
pants,  "  I  was  making  sure  that  he  touched  all 
the  bags.    'Tis  a  grand  racehorse  that  you've 


\ 


284       HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

sprung  on  us,  Mr.  Degnan.  Now,  go  on  with 
the  game ! " 

Such  little  exhibitions  made  Joe  Carey  the  joy 
of  the  populace  and  the  despair  of  his  owners. 
He,  was  a  left-handed  pachyderm  from  Texas, 
and  Miss  Specs  discovered  him  on  page  162  of 
the  Baseball  Guide  where  it  says,  "  Pitchers' 
Records,"  and  proceeds  mathematically  to  sup- 
ply the  truth  about  a  man. 

Miss  Specs  couldn't  tell  from  the  averages  that 
Joe  was  a  pachyderm,  nor  that  he  slowed  up  a 
game  by  fifteen  minutes  because  with  every 
wind-up  his  shirt  flap  pulled  out  and  he  had  to 
tuck  it  back  into  place.  There  were  other  things 
that  the  guide  book  did  not  mention.  Baseball 
records,  after  all,  are  shamefully  incomplete. 
Miss  Specs  saw  that  Carey's  season  percentage 
was  ^  .765  with  a  third  place  club ;  that  he  was 
responsible  for  less  than  two  runs  per  game ;  and 
that  there  was  a  cipher  under  the  wild  pitch 
column.  A  good  southpaw  with  control  belongs 
in  the  Smithsonian  Institute  rather  than  in  the 
Texas  League.  Miss  Specs  bought  Joe  Carey  by 
wire. 

You  should  know  Miss  Specs.  She  was  color- 
less, and  angular,  and  she  wore  starched  shirt- 
w^aists,  and  rode  a  bicycle.  Her  name  was  Miss 
Angela  Specton,  and  once  she  used  to  fluff  her 
hair,  munch  chocolates,  and  answer  to  the  name 


ELEPHANT'S  WAY  285 

of  "  Angle."  That  was  before  Brother  Bud, 
manager  and  first  baseman  of  the  Bruins,  and 
one  of  the  most  popular  men  who  ever  won  a 
pennant,  contracted  blood  poisoning  and  sub- 
mitted to  five  amputations.  He  died,  smiling,  on 
the  evening  of  the  last. 

Thereupon,  Bud's  sister  appeared,  first  as  a 
sort  of  typist  and  book-keeper,  and  later  as  as- 
sistant club  secretary.  She  was  quiet,  like  Bud, 
and  an  indefatigable  worker.  After  a  while, 
President  Barney  Doyle  and  Secretary  Winnin- 
ger,  who  were  politicians  first,  and  baseball  mag- 
nates second,  made  the  interesting  discovery  that 
Miss  Specs  knew  more  about  the  business  than 
they  did,  and  was  perfectly  willing  to  handle 
everything.  So  they  let  her  shoulder  all  the  re- 
sponsibility while  they  shouldered  all  the  credit. 

"  Fifty-fifty  guys,''  Red  Foster  called  them. 

Ten  years  of  that  sort  of  thing,  and  Miss  Specs 
became  a  very  efficient  and  most  impersonal  cog 
in  the  great  machinery  of  organized  baseball. 
She  suggested  no  closer  relation  to  a  box  of  choc- 
olates and  the  name  of  "  Angle  "  than  the  water 
bucket  did  to  the  home-plate,  but  she  was  quite 
as  indispensable  to  the  Bruins  as  either  of  those 
well  known  articles.  Of  course,  they  groused 
about  her  a  little  bit.  All  ball  clubs  believe 
they  are  mis-governed,  just  as  every  ball  player 
is  convinced  that  the  other  clubs  always  pay 


286      HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

better  salaries  than  the  one  whose  uniform  he 
wears. 

"  If  you'll  listen  to  me,  she's  an  egg,"  opined 
Peewee  Patterson,  midget  third  baseman."  I 
tried  to  work  her  for  a  couple  of  extra  passes, 
and  she  gave  me  the  old  dotted  line  look.  Said 
if  I  didn't  learn  how  to  slide  without  tearing  my 
pants,  she'd  hook  me  for  the  bill.  Ain't  that  one 
for  the  scorer?" 

Peewee's  hook  slide  was  the  marvel  of  fandom, 
but  a  trifle  hard  on  his  uniform,  especially  on 
the  home  grounds  where  an  under  layer  of  peb- 
bles occasionally  became  apparent. 

"  Ye-ah,  she's  a  card,"  agreed  Collingswood, 
outfielder.  "  Any  Jane  that  still  comes  to  work 
on  a  bicycle,  and  wears  turtle-shell  cheaters  has 
got  me  handcuffed.  I  was  trying  to  make  up  for 
that  fine  up  North,  but  nothing  doing.  '  Three 
dollars  a  day  on  the  road,'  she  says  to  me,  '  with 
only  carfare  and  lunch  money  at  home;  those 
are  the  rules,  Mr.  Collingswood.'  Fat  chance  a 
guy  has  to  sweeten  his  expense  account  on  this 
club." 

Manager  Patsy  Degnan  came  to  Miss  Specs' 
defense. 

"  She's  no  doll  for  a  fact,  but  I'll  say  she's  a 
good  ivory  hunter.  Must  sleep  on  the  table  of 
averages  and  eat  record  books.  Her  motto  is, 
'  Buy  'em  low  and  sell  'em  high,'  and  believe  me, 


ELEPHANT'S  WAY  287 

if  it  wasn't  for  the  sales  she  makes  to  the  majors, 
this  club  would  be  managed  by  the  coroner.  Any 
time  she  spends  Barney's  dough,  it's  for  a  ball 
player." 

This  gives  you  some  idea  of  Miss  Specs, — a, 
business-like  cabbage  in  the  baseball  orchard  of 
masculine  peaches ;  an  unadorned  student  of  dia- 
monds in  the  rough,  particularly  the  sort  of  soli- 
taire to  be  uncovered  occasionally  in  the  Cana- 
dian Twilight  League  or  the  bush  circuits  of  the 
southwest.  Usually,  the  ornaments  that  won  her 
attention  were  topped  with  ivory,  and  required 
considerable  cutting  before  their  market  value 
became  apparent. 

Major  League  scouts  rated  Miss  Specs  very 
highly  as  a  diamond  broker,  and  along  about 
September,  they  always  managed  to  drop  in  to 
select  a  jeweler  two  for  the  crown  of  King  Base- 
ball. 

You  can  see  for  yourself  that  the  assistant 
secretary  of  the  Bruins  had  no  possible  interest 
in  trained  elephants,  but  as  was  suggested  in 
the  beginning,  baseball  records  are  not  as  com- 
prehensive as  they  might  be. 

Dick  Maguire,  scout  for  the  Giants,  tipped  off 
Miss  Specs  to  the  fact  that  the  St.  Eustace  Club 
was  approaching  rigor  mortis^  and  was  disposed 
to  sell  even  the  uniforms  if  the  price  was  right. 
So  there  followed  a  cash  offer  for  Pitcher  Joe 


288      HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

Carey.  Back  came  the  answer  from  the  Texas 
magnate : 

"  Much  obliged.     Please  wire  purchase  price/' 

"  H'm/'  said  Miss  Specs,  "  that's  what  comes 
of  being  hungry.  I  would  have  gone  five  hun- 
dred higher,  had  they  held  out  for  it." 

So,  because  the  St.  Eustace  Club  wanted  to  be 
sure  of  breakfast,  Pitcher  Carey  climbed  into 
Class  Double  A  baseball,  traveling  600  miles 
with  a  harmonica  valise  containing  a  red  flannel 
undershirt,  a  toothbrush,  and  a  right-handed 
glove. 

He  came  blundering  into  the  office  Saturday 
morning,  prepared  for  anything  except  to  find 
that  a  woman  had  bought  him.  Their  astonish- 
ment was  mutual.  In  the  little  8  x  10  office,  the 
gentleman  from  Texas  loomed  up  like  the  Wash- 
ington monument. 

"  For  pity's  sake !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Specs.  *^  I 
didn't  mean  to  buy  the  whole  Texas  League !  Do 
you  travel  by  freight,  or  how?  " 

The  pachyderm  grinned  good  naturedly,  and 
hitched  at  his  belt,  the  sign  of  the  ball  player 
the  world  over.  His  eyes  were  as  blue  as  the 
blotting  paper  on  the  secretary's  desk,  and  his 
smile  as  pleasing  as  sunlight  on  the  prairie,  but 
these  things  form  no  part  of  a  ball  player's 
value. 

"  Wa-al  now,  marm,"  he  acknowledged,  "  I'm 


ELEPHANT'S  WAY  289 

no  bat  boy  for  a  fact.  Reckon  I  stretch  six  foot 
five,  and  strip  at  about  two  eighty,  but  if  any 
nice  little  lady  is  a-lookin'  for  a  pitcher,  mebbe 
I  can  sort  of  help  out.  Can't  do  no  more  than 
try,  marm.     Where  do  I  tie  up?  " 

Miss  Specs  sighed.  "  I  suppose  we'll  have  to 
order  a  special  uniform  for  you.  Better  go  out 
now  to  the  clubhouse  and  see  if  the  trainer  can 
fit  you  out  temporarily.  Report  here  to  Mr.  Deg- 
nan  at  one  o'clock." 

"  Yes,  marm,"  said  Carey,  and  bowed  his  way 
out. 

Miss  Specs  returned  to  her  desk,  and  resumed 
her  task  of  checking  over  yesterday's  balance 
sheet.  Half  way  down  the  right  hand  column, 
her  pencil  wavered  and  stopped.  The  assistant 
secretary  of  the  Bruins  raised  her  eyes  to  the 
top  of  her  desk  where  reposed  a  gold  baseball 
inscribed  by  the  1918  champions. 

"  Nice  little  lady  a-looking  for  a  pitcher,"  she 
mocked, — "  elephant !  "  .  .  . 

Of  course,  they  called  him  Jumbo.  There  is 
seldom  any  originality  to  be  found  in  the  nomen- 
clature of  the  diamond.  He  was  easy  going  and 
lovable,  played  a  good  hand  at  poker,  and  did 
much  better  in  the  quartet  than  Ham  Dolan,  so 
everybody  swore  by  him  off  the  field,  and  at  him 
when  he  was  in  the  box,  which  is  always  the  way 
with  an  elephant  and  his  handlers. 


290      HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

"  Mark  you/'  said  Degnan,  when  they  came 
back  from  the  trip  North.  He  was  speaking  to 
Miss  Specs,  "  Mark  you,  this  Jumbo  is  the  great- 
est pitcher  and  the  worst  ball  player  of  all  time. 
Did  I  tell  you  about  his  home  run?  " 

"  You  did,"  said  Miss  Specs. 

"  And  about  his  shirt  tail? '' 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  make  him  use  a  safety- 
pin?    I  don't  see — " 

"No,  no,  no,"  protested  the  manager,  "  That 
was  the  first  thing  we  tried,  and  he  threw  twelve 
straight  balls  before  I  unpinned  him.  Then, 
with  the  bags  full,  he  struck  the  next  three  men 
out.  Tucking  his  shirt  tail  in  is  part  of  his 
windup.  Miss  Specs.  That's  the  trouble  with  an 
elephant.  You  got  to  let  him  do  things  in  his 
own  way,  or  shoot  him." 

"  H'm,"  said  Miss  Specs,  "  but  if  he  wins  ball 
games — " 

"  Oh,  sure,"  agreed  Degnan —  "  so  long  as  he 
does,  everything's  jake.  But  wait  until  they  get 
to  bunting  on  him !  And  did  I  say  that  when  he 
comes  up  to  the  plate,  he  puts  one  foot  clear  back 
to  the  dugout,  and  swings  after  the  umpire  tells 
him  it's  a  strike?  " 

Miss  Specs  frowned  thoughtfully,  but  could 
think  of  nothing  helpful. 

"  The  worst  part  of  iit  is,"  lamented  Degnan, 
"  he  doesn't  think  any  faster  than  he  runs,  and 


ELEPHANT'S  WAY  291 

I'll  tell  the  world,  a  turtle  could  spot  him  fifty 
feet  and  beat  him  down  to  first." 

"H'm,"  said  Miss  Specs.  "Patsy,  there's 
some  wires  on  the  desk  from  Freidman  at  Van- 
couver. He  needs  a  pitcher.  Perhaps  we  can 
make  a  trade." 

"  Not  just  yet,"  Degnan  told  her,  "  Jumbo  may 
learn  some  new  tricks.  If  not,  there  is  a  circus 
coming  to  town  next  month  and  there's  where  he 
belongs." 

Miss  Specs  should  have  been  with  the  club  in 
San  Francisco  the  afternoon  that  Carey  was 
stuck  in  right  field  in  the  eighth  inning.  Two 
men  had  been  hurt,  and  three  more  thrown  out 
of  the  game  for  crabbing.  The  bench  was  shorn 
of  substitutes,  and  even  Degnan  was  filling  in  at 
first. 

"  Listen,  Jumbo,"  said  the  manager,  "  You  go 
out  there  by  the  fence,  understand,  and  don't 
move.  The  rules  call  for  nine  men,  so  out  you 
go,  but  if  the  ball  comes  your  way  let  Kelly  or 
Schafer  handle  it,  and  just  keep  out  of  their 
road." 

That  same  inning  the  double  steal  went  wrong, 
and  two  San  Francisco  runners  were  trapped 
between  bags.  It  was  one  of  those  kind  of  plays 
that  everybody  takes  a  hand  in,  with  the  catcher 
down  at  third,  the  pitcher  covering  the  plate, 
and  the  outfielders  jigging  around  in  an  effort 


292      HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

to  help  out.  Nobody  had  time  to  see  Joe  Carey 
edging  his  way  into  the  confusion.  But  sud- 
denly he  loomed  up,  between  second  and  third, 
and  intercepted  a  ball  that  was  ticketed  for  Pee- 
wee  Patterson  and  urgently  needed  by  that  gen- 
tleman. Forthwith,  everybody  whooped,  and 
both  runners  dashed  ahead.  In  a  panic,  the  big 
pitcher  spun  around  and  let  fly  at  the  nearest 
friendly  uniform  he  could  see.  Twenty  feet 
away,  Patsy  Degnan,  hurrying  over  from  first 
base,  threw  up  his  gloved  hand  hastily,  and 
thereby  escaped  being  brained.  The  ball,  glanc- 
ing off,  rolled  into  the  outfield,  and  both  runners 
scored.  Degnan  staggered  over  to  second  base, 
sat  down,  and  put  both  hands  to  his  head. 
Finally  he  looked  up,  and  beckoned  to  the  dis- 
comfited Texan. 

"  Jumbo,''  he  entreated,  "  come  here  a  minute, 
just  one  minute,  please.  Now,  Joe,  am  I  the 
only  man  on  this  club  that  you  know?  Ain't 
you  acquainted  with  Mr.  Johnson  at  short,  or 
Mr.  Patterson  at  third,  or  Mr.  Coogan  at  second? 
Ain't  you  never  met  'em,  Joe?  Then  why  did 
you  throw  the  ball  at  me,  Jumbo?  And  Joe, 
another  thing — how  in  hell  did  you  manage  to 
get  in  from  the  fence  so  quick?  " 

Now,  these  things  were  greatly  relished  by  the 
wits  in  the  bleachers,  and  the  humorists  in  the 
press  box ;  but  not  at  all  by  Miss  Specs,  who  had 


ELEPHANT'S  WAY  293 

sacrificed  ever  so  many  things  in  order  to  play 
diamond  solitaire  at  $125.00  per  month.  Bud 
Specton  had  gone  on  playing  ball,  against  thef 
doctor's  orders,  just  because  he  wanted  to  help 
out.  The  result  was  fatal.  His  sister  had  gone 
on  working  for  the  Bruins,  just  because  it  had 
become  a  habit,  and  now  she  was  twenty-nine 
and  visibly  distressed  because  one  thousand  dol- 
lars' worth  of  Barney  Doyle's  money  was  tied  up 
in  a  left-handed  pachyderm  from  Texas  who  was 
a  monumental  joke.  Neither  Barney,  himself, 
nor  Secretary  Winninger  were  worried.  They 
had  just  secured  control  of  the  city  commission, 
and  w^ere  busily  engaged  in  figuring  up  the  mu- 
nicipal gate  receipts,  with  the  comforting  knowl- 
edge that  this  was  one  game  in  which  no  rain 
checks  were  necessary. 

The  team  came  back  from  the  road,  and  Deg- 
nan  sought  conference  with  Miss  Specs. 

"We'd  better  not  wait  for  that  circus,"  he 
sighed.  "  If  Vancouver  wants  to  go  into  the 
elephant  business,  just  ask  the  other  clubs  for 
waivers  on  Joe.     I'm  through !  " 

"I  can  get  |400.00  cash,"  said  Miss  Specs, 
'-or  the  pick  of  the  club  for  Spring  delivery. 
They  have  a  young  left-hander  from  Calgary  who 
seems  to  be  developing  fast." 

"Well,  see  how  big  he  is,"  Degnan  advised. 
"  Did  I  tell  you  that  Jumbo  fanned  twelve  men 


294      HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

at  Salt  Lake  last  Tuesday?  We  had  'em  1  to  0 
in  the  ninth,  and  then  they  got  two  men  on,  and 
Williams  laid  down  a  bunt." 

"What  happened?" 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  said  Degnan,  "  Jumbo  went 
over  and  sat  down  on  the  ball,  and  then  got  up 
and  threw  it  twenty  feet  over  first.  Broke  the 
vest  buttons  off  a  fat  guy  in  the  bleachers.  I'm 
telling  you,  Miss  Specs, — Joe  has  a  hop  on  his 
fast  ball  like  a  camel's  back  and  his  curve  is 
wider  than  the  Golden  Gate,  but  sell  him  quick, 
before  he  goes  after  a  foul  ball  and  knocks  down 
the  grandstand." 

So  Miss  Specs  remained  at  her  desk  later  than 
usual  that  evening,  inscribing  polite  notes  to  all 
the  managers  of  the  Coast  League,  serving  notice 
that  Pitcher  Joe  Carey  was  to  be  sold  outside  the 
circuit,  unless  some  one  desired  to  claim  him  at 
the  waiver  price.  There  were  not  enough  stamps 
to  go  around,  so  Miss  Specs  placed  the  little 
pile  of  envelopes  neatly  beside  the  gold  baseball 
on  top  of  her  desk,  mounted  her  bicycle,  and 
shoved  off  in  the  direction  of  the  staid  old  board- 
ing house  at  the  corner  of  Twenty-second  and 
Hawthorne. 

Just  where  the  Presbyterian  church  glares 
reproachfully  at  Max  Arnold's  all-night  garage, 
a  delightful  and  very  deaf  old  lady  started 
briskly  across  the  street,  observed  a  truck  bear- 


ELEPHANT'S  WAY  295 

ing  down  upon  her,  and  changed  her  course  three 
times. 

"  For  the  love  of  Pete! "  said  the  driver,  and 
jammed  on  the  emergency.  The  rear  of  the  truck 
skidded  to  the  right,  knocking  Miss  Specs  from 
her  bicycle  and  into  the  path  of  a  touring  car. 
Very  white  of  lip,  she  gave  her  address  to  the 
man  who  picked  her  up,  and  in  another  ten 
minutes,  she  was  lying  on  the  bed  in  her  little 
hall  bedroom,  and  old  Mrs.  Heard  was  telephon- 
ing for  the  doctor. 

Truxton,  the  club  physician,  came  at  once. 

"  Compound  fracture  of  the  right  ankle,"  he 
pronounced.  "  That  and  a  few  bruises.  You 
really  had  a  very  fortunate  escape,  young 
woman." 

Miss  Specs  groaned,  "  Fortunate?  How  long 
am  I  going  to  be  laid  up?  " 

"  That  depends,"  he  answered.  "  But  I'm 
afraid  we'll  have  to  bench  you  for  about  six 
weeks — " 

"  Six  weeks !  "  screamed  Miss  Specs.  "  Six — ! " 
Her  little  world  reeled  under  the  shock.  Never 
in  ten  whole  seasons  had  she  been  absent  from 
her  desk;  never  had  the  machinery  of  organized 
baseball  for  an  entire  decade  reached  for  the  cog 
represented  by  the  assistant  secretary  of  the 
Bruins,  and  failed  to  find  it.  She  visioned  Sec- 
retary Winninger  sitting  at  her  desk,  brusquely 


296      HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

sorting  her  treasured  correspondence,  rummag- 
ing through  her  accounts,  mixing  everything  up 
in  a  man's  way.     Miss  Specs  tightened  her  lips. 

"  You'll  get  me  back  at  the  office  in  ten  days," 
she  told  Truxton,  "  or  I'll  get  another  doctor." 

Truxton  had  small  sympathy  with  women  in 
the  business  world. 

"  That's  always  your  privilege,"  he  said  coldly, 
and  proceeded  to  apply  a  plaster  cast  to  the  frac- 
tured ankle. 

That  was  the  night  the  bunch  went  out  to 
Greenway  Park  where  the  Elks  had  rented  all 
the  concessions  and  were  staging  a  charity  cir- 
cus. Red  Foster  and  Rube  Johnson  elected  to 
spend  their  time  bumping  the  bumps;  Bill  Coo- 
gan  and  Steve  Bidwell  were  interested  in  the 
lady  divers;  and  Cy  Morgan  wandered  'around 
disconsolately  until  he  spied  Professor  Din- 
widdle's Dusky  Dodger. — "  Three  balls  for  a 
quarter,  and  a  prize  for  every  time  you  hit  him !  " 

''  See  the  pride  of  Africa  dodge  the  baseball !  " 
roared  the  professor. 

"  Huh !  "  grunted  the  second  string  catcher  of 
the  Bruins.  He  was  from  Georgia.  What  was 
equally  pertinent  he  had  been  up  five  times  that 
afternoon  without  getting  a  hit.  He  horned  into 
the  crowd  eagerly. 

"  Give  me  a  dollar's  worth  of  them  balls,"  he 
ordered,  "  and  then  ring  for  the  ambulance." 


ELEPHANT'S  WAY  297 


But  the  Georgian  underestimated  the  dodging 
ability  of  Professor  Dinwiddie's  Ethopian  Mar- 
vel, who  appreciated  the  significant  zip  to  the 
first  ball,  and  took  special  pains  to  avoid  any 
closer  acquaintance.  The  catcher  did  his  best, 
but  all  he  got  for  |4.75,  was  a  derisive : 

"  Yah !  Yah !  Come  on,  Boss — try  it  again !  " 

Cy  Morgan  clutched  the  Professor  earnestly  by 
his  coat  lapels. 

"  Just  you  keep  that  bird  up  to  the  plate  five 
minutes  more,''  he  begged,  "  I'm  going  to  hunt  up 
a  friend." 

"  That's  all  right,"  assured  the  Professor, 
"  bring  the  whole  family.  Right  this  way,  ladies 
and  gentlemen, — three  throws  for  a  quarter,  and 
a  grand  piano  if  you  kill  him !  " 

The  Georgia  catcher  was  absent  longer  than  he 
anticipated,  but  finally  he  located  Joe  Carey  in 
the  Mystic  Maze  trying  to  walk  through  a 
mirror. 

"  Hot  dog !  "  said  Cy.  "  You  come  with  me, 
Jumbo — I  know  the  way  out." 

Five  more  minutes  and  the  pair  were  again  in 
front  of  the  futurist  curtain  with  the  Ethiopian 
bull's-eye. 

"  Now,  Jumbo,"  implored  the  catcher,  "  for  the 
honor  of  the  South,  go  to  work — I'm  busted !  " 

Three  ineffectual  shots,  and  the  Georgian 
groaned, 


298      HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 


"Take  off  your  coat,  Jumbo.  Get  the  old 
wind-up !    Put  some  stuff  on  the  ball !  " 

The  Texan  complied.  His  shirt-sleeved  figure 
towered  above  the  crowd.  He  dug  with  one  toe 
at  an  imaginary  slab,  swung  his  arm  in  a  slow 
double  circle  and  let  fly  with  a  basso  grunt.  The 
ball  whacked  the  canvas  within  six  inches  of  the 
Dodger's  right  ear,  but  the  jungle  marvel  judged 
it  accurately  and  did  not  bat  an  eyelash. 

Jumbo  tucked  his  shirt-flap  into  place  mechan- 
ically. 

"  Wa-al  now,"  he  drawled,  "  reckon  I've  just 
about  got  warmed-  up.  Look  out  for  yourself, 
black  boy,  I'm  coming !  " 

Once  more,  he  took  the  full  wind-up,  and  then 
lunged,  first  to  the  left,  and  then  forward  in  a 
cross-fire  delivery. 

**  Yah ! ''  shrieked  the  Dodger — and  then  the 
ball  broke  sharply  in  its  course,  and  cracked  him 
on  the  jaw. 

Cy  Morgan  hugged  his  companion.  "  That's 
working  on  him,  Jumbo — now  try  a  fast  one. 
Here,  Professor,  give  us  another  dollar's  worth !  " 

But  the  Professor  began  to  suspect  that  it  was 
time  to  discriminate  between  his  customers.  The 
Marvel  of  the  Jungle  was  game  but  glassy-eyed. 

"  Now,  boys,"  the  Professor  demurred,  "  re- 
member it's  for  charity — " 

"Charity,   your   eye!   barked   the  gentleman 


ELEPHANT'S  WAY  299 

from  Georgia,  "  hand  over  some  more  balls  'till 
we  pick  out  the  hard  ones.  I'll  show  you  whether 
Jumbo  Carey  can  pitch." 

"  Carey? "  said  the  professor,  "  Jumbo  of 
the  Bruins?  Why  sure  enough, — ^good  night! 
What'll  you  have,  Joe — a  bowl  of  gold  fish  or 
a  Kewpie  Doll?  No — no — boys,"  he  pleaded, 
"  take  your  pick  of  the  prizes  like  a  couple  of 
gents,  and  call  it  quits.  You'll  find  the  hula 
dancer  over  at  the  left." 

Cy  Morgan  was  for  standing  firmly  on  his 
rights,  but  the  good-humored  pachyderm  from 
Texas  showed  signs  of  weakening.  Wherefore, 
into  Joe  Carey's  hands.  Professor  Dinwiddle  con- 
signed a  feminine  Kewpie  and  a  quart  jar  contain- 
ing two  goldfish.  The  doll  was  equipped  with 
vamp  eyes,  real  hair,  and  a  costume  which,  like 
that  of  Gunga  Din,  was  "  nothing  much  before, 
and  rather  less  than  'arf  o'  that  behind !  " 

Jumbo  grinned  at  his  new  possessions,  and 
then  at  his  battery  mate. 

"  Where  do  we  go  from  here?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I  think  the  booby  hatch  would  be  the  logical 
place  for  you,"  said  Morgan.    "  I'm  going  home." 

Not  having  any  home  to  go  to,  the  Texan  lum- 
bered back  to  his  hotel  room,  fed  soda  crackers 
to  the  gold  fish,  and  tied  his  lady  friend  to  the 
chandelier. 

At  8 :35  the  following  morning,  while  standing 


300       HEAKTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

in  front  of  the  mirror,  adjusting  his  necktie,  an 
inspiration  dawned  on  him. 

"  Wa-al,  now,"  he  chuckled,  "  why  didn't  I 
think  of  that  before?  I'll  give  'em  both  to  Miss 
Specs." 

Aquarium  in  one  hand,  and  baby  vamp  in  the 
other,  he  achieved  the  ball  park  by  ten  o'clock, 
and  walked  in  on  Barney  Doyle  and  Secretary 
Winninger,  both  of  whom  had  been  routed  out  of 
their  accustomed  haunts  by  telephone  messages 
from  old  Mrs.  Heard. 

"Where's  Miss  Specs?"  he  demanded. 

They  told  him,  and  his  jaw  dropped. 

"  Wa-al  now,"  he  commiserated,  "  ain't  that 
too  bad!  I  wonder  how  I  can  get  these  things 
out  to  her?  " 

"  Why  don't  you  take  'em  out?  "  Winninger 
suggested,  "  you're  big  enough."  The  secretary 
of  the  Bruins  was  down  for  an  important  speech 
that  noon  at  the  Commonwealth  Luncheon,  and 
he  was  vexed  at  developments. 

Jumbo  pondered  a  moment.  "  Where  does  she 
live?  " 

Winninger  supplied  the  address  with  alacrity. 

"  Here,"  he  instructed,  "  have  her  check  up 
the  payroll  while  you're  about  it,  and  find  out  if 
there  is  anything  we  can  do.  Truxton  says  it's 
only  her  ankle." 

Over  by  the  safe  was  an  old  black  satchel  used 


ELEPHANT'S  WAY  301 

for  carrying  the  practise  balls.  Jumbo  trans- 
ferred the  contents  to  a  card  board  box.  In  the 
valise,  he  deposited  first  the  bowl  of  gold  fish, 
next  Miss  Gunga  Din,  and  then  the  envelope  con- 
taining the  payroll. 

"  Don't  take  such  a  big  lead  off  first,"  he 
warned  the  occupants  of  the  glass  bowl,  "  or 
you'll  get  thrown  out.    Hug  your  bags !  " 

On  the  way  to  the  boarding  house,  he  was 
aflaicted  with  doubt  as  to  the  value  of  his  pres- 
ents. So  he  stopped  into  a  candy  store,  and 
idded  a  box  of  chocolates  to  the  collection. 

"  Reckon  that  ought  to  make  it  right,"  he  re- 
flected, "  but  darned  if  I  know  very  much  about 
dames, — leastwise,  the  kind  like  Miss  Specs.  If 
it  was  any  of  the  boys,  all  they'd  want  would  be 
the  sporting  extras  and  some  chewing  tobacco." 

He  located  the  address,  mounted  the  steps,  and 
rang  the  bell. 

It  was  not  Mrs.  Heard,  but  her  daughter  who 
came  to  the  door. 

"  Miss  Specs — ?  "  said  Carey. 

Miss  Heard  was  an  intelligent  young  thing. 
She  noted  the  professional  aspect  of  the  black 
satchel. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said  brightly,  "go  right  up- 
stairs, and  knock  at  the  first  door  on  the  left." 

None  but  a  left-handed  pachyderm  from  Texa^i 
would  have  followed  those  instructions  so  im- 


302      HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

plicitly.  He  mounted  the  stairs;  he  turned  to 
the  left;  he  knocked  on  the  door. 

"  Come  in/'  said  a  voice. 

He  turned  the  knob,  shoved  forward,  and 
bulged  into  the  room. 

Miss  Specs  squealed,  drew  the  bedclothes 
around  her  neck,  and  stared  at  Joe  Carey  in 
dumb  amazement. 

"  It's  only  me,  Miss  Specs,"  he  blurted,  "  I  was 
plumb  sorry  to  hear  you  got  hurt,  and  I  thought 
maybe  it  would  be  all  right  to  bring  out  a  few 
things." 

Without  further  ado,  he  deposited  the  valise 
on  a  table,  laid  one  after  another  of  his  contribu- 
tions on  the  mantelpiece,  and  then  moved  toward 
a  rocker. 

Miss  Specs  found  her  voice. 

"  Not  that  chair !  "  she  implored,  "  it's  weak. 
Look  out  for  the  chandelier!     Oh^  good  Lord!  ^^ 

He  paused  awkwardly,  with  his  head  and 
shoulders  lowered. 

"  Reckon,  I  better  sit  down  somewheres — Miss 
Specs." 

"  Over  on  that  lounge,"  she  told  him,  "  and 
don't  move ! " 

He  obeyed,  and  gazed  at  her  helplessly. 

Presently  Miss  Specs  began  to  laugh,  a  little 
hysterically  at  first,  because  she  was  out  of  prac- 
tise.   But  his  sheepish  grin  helped  her  out,  and 


ELEPHANT'S  WAY  303 

finally  feminine  mirth  broke  through  a  decade 
of  self -discipline,  and  the  tears  rolled  down  her 
cheeks. 

"  That  kewpie,"  she  gasped,  pointing  at  the 
mantel,  "  let  me  see  it,  Joe." 

He  brought  it, — also  the  box  of  chocolates. 

Miss  Specs  had  never  anticipated  owning  a 
plaster  vamp.  But  neither  had  she  ever  ex- 
pected to  see  a  trained  elephant  invade  her  bed- 
room. She  tugged  at  the  absurd  little  skirt 
where  it  flared  up  disgracefully  in  the  rear,  but 
that  only  increased  the  brevity  of  Miss  Gunga 
Din's  apparel  in  front.  Miss  Specs  flushed,  and 
turned  her  attention  to  the  gold  fish. 

He  related  the  manner  of  their  acquisition,  and 
once  more  Miss  Specs  was  driven  to  giggles. 

"  But  the  chocolates,  Joe?  " 

"  Oh,  I  bought  those  on  the  way  up,"  he  ac- 
knowledged, ^'  I  thought  girls  always  fell  for 
chocolates." 

Miss  Specs'  color  came  again.  "  Thank  you, 
Joe,"  she  said,  quietly,  "  and  now  let  me  look 
over  the  pay  roll,  please." 

He  gave  her  the  envelope,  and  then  returned  to 
the  bowl  of  gold  fish,  tapping  with  a  heavy 
forefinger  on  the  glass  to  .  attract  their  in- 
terest. 

The  assistant  secretary  of  the  Bruins  found 
the  figures  quite  correct,  but  she  continued  to  lie 


304      HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND' 

there  silently  a  moment,  trying  to  recall  whether 
Joe  Carey  was  thirty-one  or  thirty -two. 

She  experienced  a  vague  desire  that  it  should 
be  the  latter. 

He  saw  that  the  salary  list  was  once  again  in 
the  envelope. 

"  Reckon  I'd  better  be  going  now,  Miss  Specs," 
he  said,  "  is  there  anything  at  the  office  you  want 
me  to  bring  you?  '^ 

His  awkward  bulk  dwarfed  the  furniture;  his 
blue  eyes  regarded  her  solicitously;  his  good- 
humored  smile  suggested  a  sort  of  land-locked 
harbor  where  all  sorts  of  queer,  disabled,  vessels 
might  find  safety  and  welcome.  Miss  Specs  hesi- 
tated, and  then  looked  dreamily  at  the  gold  fish, 
and  next  at  their  donor. 

"  There  is  a  small  pile  of  unstamped  envelopes 
on  the  top  of  my  desk,''  she  confided.  ^'  If  you'd 
be  kind  enough  to  bring  them — " 

"Why,  sure,"  he  agreed.  "Will  to-morrow 
do?" 

"  Yes,"  she  assented.  Then,  with  his  hand  on 
the  door,  she  stopped  him  again. 

"Joe!" 

"Yes,  marm." 

"  It  was  very  nice  of  you  to  bring  me  these 
things,  I  wish — I  wish — Joe — that  you  could 
manage  just  a  little  bit  better  with  your  fielding. 
I  know  you  try  hard,  and  Patsy  says  you've  got 


ELEPHANT'S  WAY  305 

more  stuff  than  most  men  in  the  majors.  Don't 
you  think  you  could  practise  fielding  your  posi- 
tion? " 

He  released  his  hold  on  the  door  knob,  and 
came  back  to  the  bed,  plucking  thoughtfully  at 
his  cap. 

"  Wa-al  now,''  he  drawled,  "  a  fellow  can't  do 
no  more  than  try,  Miss  Specs." 

"  I — I  wish  you  would,"  she  said,  wistfully. 
"Every  one  I  ever  bought  has  made  good  for 
me, — and  we  all  like  you  so  much." 

The  horn-rimmed  spectacles  were  on  the  bu- 
reau. The  bicycle  was  in  the  basement,  and  the 
starched  shirtwaist  hidden  away  in  the  closet. 
Miss  Specs'  dark  hair  was  fluffed  over  her  tem- 
ples, and  a  rose  colored  negligee  revealed  a  white 
throat.  Somewhere  in  the  brain  of  the  elephant, 
the  divine  seed  of  a  new  intelligence  showed  the 
first  symptoms  of  fertility. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  mused,  "  if  Patsy  will  let  me 
work  against  the  Wolves  to-day?  Good-by,  Miss 
Specs — I'll  bring  you  the  envelopes  in  the  morn- 
ing. The  guy  said  to  feed  soda  crackers  to  them 
fish." 

That  afternoon,  Jumbo  won  his  game  three  to 
nothing.  Later,  in  Peewee  Patterson's  room  at 
the  St.  Charles,  the  little  infielder  broached  the 
subject  to  the  gang  about  the  poker  table.  Carey 
was  not  aijiong  those  present, 


30e      HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

"  The  elephant's  learned  a  new  trick,"  confided 
the  midget,  "  and  it's  a  bear.  Bull  Feeney  was 
going  to  chase  him  to  the  clubhouse  in  the  sixth 
inning  for  swearing  at  him,  but  Jumbo  explains 
he  was  talking  to  the  ball." 

"Talking  to  the  ball!  How  come?"  Cy 
Morgan  put  the  query. 

"You  heard  me  right,"  said  Peewee,  "Bull 
says  every  time  the  big  fellow  got  in  a  hole,  or 
they  started  to  bunt  on  him,  he  talked  to  the  ball 
like  he  was  rolling  dice.  I  heard  him  myself  once. 
Sawyer  was  on  second  and  McGovern  laid  down 
a  bunt.  I  go  in  for  it,  leaving  Johnson  to  cover 
third,  but  the  elephant  comes  charging  over, 
grunting  '  got  to  getcha — got  to  getcha !  got  to 
getcha  quick ! '  " 

"  And  I'll  be  a  Dutchman,"  concluded  Pee- 
wee, "if  he  didn't  pick  that  ball  up  with  one 
hand,  and  make  the  play  at  third !  Of  course,  he 
fell  on  his  neck  afterwards,  but  you  fellows  saw 
him  get  his  man." 

"  Ye-ah,"  confirmed  Coogan,  "  looked  like  it 
was  going  to  be  a  double  play  for  a  minute.  I 
knew  a  pitcher  once  that  learned  control  by 
chewing  gum.  Used  to  carry  a  wad  on  the  but- 
ton of  his  cap,  and  whenever  things  looked  bad, 
he'd  reach  up,  and  pop  that  old  gum  in  his  face. 
Seemed  to  help  him  a  lot.  Jumbo  may  speed  up 
yet!" 


ELEPHANT'S  WAY  307 

Coogan  called  the  turn  on  the  left  hander  from 
Texas.  After  all,  it  was  no  miracle  that  hap- 
pened, merely  psychology, — which  has  far  more 
to  do  with  baseball  than  most  people  imagine. 
Joe  Carey  speeded  up.  His  awkward  frame  was 
animated  by  a  spirit  that  was  new  to  him;  his 
nervousness  was  overcome  by  the  simple  expe- 
dient of  talking  to  the  leather  sphere.  Back  of 
his  steady  improvement  was  an  elephantine 
purpose;  a  grim,  ponderous  progress  that 
looked  neither  to  the  left  nor  rights  nor  brooked 
no  obstacles.  That  is  the  way  with  all  ele- 
phants. 

"  Got  to  break  you  over  that  outside  corner," 
he  muttered  to  the  ball — and  the  sphere  went 
right  where  he  told  it. 

"  Man  on  first,"  he  grunted  again,  "  got  to 
watch  you  pretty  close — waste  ball.  Bill  says — 
waste  ball,  remember — Ah — get  over!  Whoops! 
Nice  baby ! " 

When  a  man  tries  very  hard  to  improve  him- 
self, he  usually  succeeds,  whether  it  be  at  build- 
ing locomotives,  or  playing  marbles.  Joe  Carey 
always  had  plenty  of  stuff  on  the  ball  if  you  let 
him  tuck  his  shirt  in.  He  began  to  overcome  his 
other  weaknesses  one  after  another,  just  by 
making  a  confidant  of  the  tool  which  stood  for  his 
trade. 

"  Darned  if  it  ain't  wonderful,"  commented 


308      HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

Peewee  Patterson,  "  if  Jumbo  keeps  on,  he'll  be 
drafted  by  one  of  them  Russian  ballets." 

Most  of  this  transformation  took  place  while 
the  Bruins  were  swinging  around  the  circuit  in 
July,  and  while  Miss  Specs  was  entombed  in  the 
little  hall  bedroom,  with  plenty  of  time  to  study 
the  habits  of  gold  fish,  and  to  build  castles  in  the 
air.  She  couldn't  help  constructing  those  atmos- 
pheric edifices,  because  there  came  in  the  mail 
regularly  every  week  colored  postcards  from 
various  points  on  the  circuit,  the  cards  all  ad- 
dressed in  a  sprawling  hand,  and  respectfully 
calling  her  attention  to  the  fact  that  nobody 
was  bunting  Joe  Carey  to  the  shower  baths 
any  more. 

Miss  Specs  limped  to  her  office  and  resumed 
her  accustomed  duties  on  the  morning  that  the 
Bruins  got  in  from  Los  Angeles  for  a  two  weeks^ 
stay  at  home. 

"Wa-al,  now,  marm,"  Jumbo  greeted  her, 
"you're  looking  fine!  I'm  sure  glad  to  see  you. 
Did  you  get  the  cards?  I  been  going  pretty  good, 
Miss  Specs — won  eight  straight,  now  i  " 

"  I  felt  all  along  you  could  do  it,"  Miss  Specs' 
told  him,  "  and  I'm  so  glad !  " 

"Are  you  now?"  he  exclaimed,  and  then  he 
saw  Miss  Gunga  Din  on  top  of  the  desk,  along- 
side the  gold  baseball.  He  grinned  broadly,  and 
then  endeavored  tc  look  surprised. 


ELEPHANT^S  WAY  309 

"  I  thought  you'd  be  giving  that  thing  the  air 
a  long  time  ago,"  he  confided. 

"  I  should  say  not !  "  she  answered  indignantly, 
and  then  they  both  colored,  and  he  wanted  to 
know  if  she  ever  took  in  the  movies. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  a  brand  new  game 
for  both,  and  it  revealed  another  deplorable 
weakness  in  the  pachyderm.  Further,  it  was  a 
weakness  that  Miss  Specs  had  not  the  slightest 
idea  of  how  to  overcome.  In  the  presence  of  the 
assistant  secretary  of  the  Bruins,  Joe  Carey  was 
as  noisy  as  an  oyster,  as  fluent  as  a  dumb-bell, 
as  replete  with  intelligent  remarks  as  a  goldfish. 
He  arrived  at  the  office  in  the  morning  at  the 
same  hour  as  Miss  Specs;  he  departed  in  the 
evening  at  the  isame  time;  he  took  her  to  the 
movies  at  night,  and  to  an  ice  cream  parlor  after- 
wards. He  was  her  shadow,  and  just  as  hope- 
lessly mute. 

Fortunately,  there  is  a  language  not  voiced  by 
the  tongue,  and  it  can  be  easily  learned  even  by 
gentlemec  whose  shirt  flaps  come  oat  when  they 
exert  themselves,  and  by  ladies  who  ride  a  bicycle 
and  wear  starched  waists. 

By  the  end  of  August,  the  situation  was  fairly 
plain  to  every  one,  and  bets  were  being  made  in 
the  clubhouse  on  a  time  basis  that  the  pair  would 
eventually  sign  articles.  Cy  Morgan  announced 
the  odds:  "Five  to  one,  Jumbo  didn't  propose 


310      HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

that  season;  four  to  one  against  the  following 
year,  three  to  one  for  the  third  year,  and  even 
money  on  the  fifth.  Either  end,  boys,  and  no 
markers  accepted ! " 

But  just  about  this  time,  when  Joe  Carey  was 
trying  his  best  to  get  out  of  low  gear,  Fate  in  the 
form  of  a  broken  axle,  four  thousand  miles  away, 
stepped  into  the  proceedings,  and  all  bets  were 
promptly  cancelled. 

Miss  Specs  looked  up  from  her  desk  one  morn- 
ing, and  discovered  Dick  Maguire,  the  Giants' 
scout,  at  her  side.  Usually,  Maguire  came 
around  in  September — and  didn't  talk  business 
until  several  days  had  elapsed.  But  he  went 
right  to  the  point  this  time. 

"  Seen  the  morning  paper?  "  he  asked.  ''  Know 
why  I'm  here?  " 

Miss  Specs  hadn't,  and  didn't 

"  All  right,"  snapped  the  scout,  and  tossed  over 
a  sheaf  of  telegrams,  "  that'll  explain.  Maxwell 
. — Kingston  and  Bill  Bradley — hurt  yesterday  in 
a  smashup.  A  hundred  thousand  dollars'  worth 
of  pitchers  in  the  hospital,  and  the  club  in  fii»st 
place  by  ten  points!  Name  your  terms  on  Joe 
Carey — Miss  Specs — I  want  him  on  the  train  to- 
night!" 

Miss  Specs  was  dazed.     "  But — but — " 

"  No  buts  about  it,"  Maguire  blurted —  "  I  saw 
Barney  this  morning,  and  Patsy  Degnan  at  the 


ELEPHANT'S  WAY  311 

hotel  last  night.  Patsy's  willing  to  help  out. 
The  Bruins  can't  do  better  than  third,  so  you're 
not  sacrificing  the  team's  chances.  Doyle  said 
that  he  left  all  sales  in  your  hands.  Name  your 
terms,  and  the  deal's  made." 

Miss  Specs  fought  for  her  self-control.  "  Can't 
you  make  it  spring  delivery?  " 

"  Spring  fiddlesticks !  "  roared  Maguire.  ^'  See 
here.  Miss  Specs — I  tipped  you  off  to  Jumbo 
in  the  first  place,  and  he's  carrying  this  club 
right  on  his  back.  Now,  he's  thirty-one,  ain'^t 
he?" 

"  Thirty -two,"  she  corrected  desperately. 

"  All  right — all  right,  so  much  the  more  reason 
you  should  give  him  his  chance.  If  he  joins  us 
now,  he  get'si  a  crack  perhaps  at  world  series 
dough,  but  I  want  him)  to-night,  or  not  at  all. 
Here,  let's  not  beat  around  any  more.  You  saw 
those  wires.  I'll  give  fifteen  thousand  cash,  and 
turn  over  two  young  pitchers  in  the  Spring.  Say 
the  word,  and  I'll  buy  his  transportation  now !  " 

Miss  Specs  studied  the  blotter  before  her.  It 
was  as  blue  as  the  eyes  of  Joe  Carey.  Oti  top  of 
the  desk,  leaning  against  the  pile  of  baseball 
guides.  Miss  Gunga  Din  was  vamping  the  gold 
baseball.  The  lips  of  the  assistant  secretary  of 
the  Bruins  trembled,  and  she  suddenly  looked 
older  than  twenty-nine.  Immediate  delivery  for 
Joe   Carey — New   York   city   and   the   world's 


312      HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

series !  Immediate  delivery, — and  no  chance  for 
Jumbo  to  immediately  find  his  tongue! 

"  Shades  of  Pop  Anson !  ",  protested  Maguire, 
"ain't  fifteen  thousand  and  two  ball  players 
enough?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  little  Miss  Specs,  "  it's  quite 
fair.  You — ^you  can  have  him,  Mr.  Maguire — < 
it's  a  wonderful  opportunity  for  him,  isn't  it?  " 

"  I'll  say  so !  "  he  grunted.  "  Here's  the  check. 
I'll  go  hunt  him  up,  and  then  arrange  the  trans- 
portation." 

"  You'll  find  him  out  on  the  diamond,"  she  di- 
rected, "he — he  practises  fielding  bunts  about 
this  time." 

A  half  hour  later.  Jumbo  came  tramping  in, 
his  eyes  unusually  large,  and  his  face  unusually 
red.  Miss  Specs  had  been  holding  on  to 
her  nerves  all  the  while.  Not  for  nothing 
was  she  the  sister  of  a  man  who  had 
died  smiling. 

"Congratulations,  Joe,"  she  waved,  brightly. 
"  How  does  it  feel  to  be  a  major  leaguer?  You'd 
better  go  home  and  pack  up, — I'm  going  to  have 
your  transportation  ready  by  four  o'clock.  Just 
think,  Joe — ^you'll  probably  get  a  chance  at  the 
world's  series ! " 

"  Huh,"  he  mumbled,  "  I'd  rather  pitch  around 
here.  Miss  Specs.  I  ain't  stuck  on  New  York, 
Miss  Specs — I — ^I — •" 


ELEPHANT'S  WAY  313 

He  came  over  to  her  desk,  and  stood  first  on 
one  foot,  and  then  another.  She  wanted  to 
scream,  but  all  she  did  was  to  say: 

"  Yes,  Joe?  " 

He  stared  at  her  helplessly,  unable  to  say  a 
word.  The  assistant  secretary  felt  her  nerves 
giving  way,  and  she  rose  abruptly. 

"  Good-by,  Joe,"  she  hurried,  "  we'll  miss  you 
dreadfully,  of  course,  but  you  know  how  it  is  in 
baseball — a  club  has  to  take  a  fair  price  when  it's 
offered.  I'm  afraid  I'll  have  to  get  to  work  on 
the  books  now — Joe, — if  you'll  come  in  at  four 
o'clock,  Mr.  Maguire  will  have  the  transporta- 
tion." 

Joe  Carey  was  unaccustomed  to  pitching  to 
feminine  batters.  He  comprehended  only  that 
Miss  Specs  had  sold  him,  and  now  was  anxious 
to  get  to  work  on  her  books.  He  sighed  pro- 
foundly, and  gripped  her  hand  in  clumsy  earnest- 
ness. 

"  Good-by,  Miss  Specs,"  he  rumbled,  "  reckon 

it's  a  good  deal  of  a  joke  me  pitching  for  New 

"*  York — but  if  it's  you  that's  sending  me  up  there, 

— why,  a  fellow  can't  do  no  more  than  try, — 

can't  do  no  more  than  try,  Miss  Specs." 

He  turned  away,  and — hand  on  the  door — 
asked : 

"  You  don't  mind  if  I  send  some  cards? — kinda 
got  used  to  doing  it." 


314      HEAETS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

"  I'll  look  for  them,"  promised  Miss  Specs, 
"  Good  luck,  Joe." 

"  I'll  see  you  at  four,"  he  said,  and  turned 
away. 

Outside  in  the  corridor,  he  hitched  at  his  belt, 
pulled  at  his  cap — and  shook  his  head  dolefully. 
Finally  he  squared  his  shoulders,  and  headed  for 
the  clubhouse  to  get  his  uniform.  On  the  way, 
his  memory  reverted  to  the  day  in  Texas  he  had 
received  transportation  to  California.  Lugubri- 
ously, his  voice  rose  in  the  Cowboy's  Lament : 

* '  Oh,  dig  my  grave  both  wide  and  deep, 
Put  tombstones  at  my  head  and  feet, 
And  on  my  breast  carve  a  turtle  dove 
To  signify  I  died  of  Love. 
Fare  thee  well — " 

He  fell  over  a  rake,  left  there  by  the  ground- 
keeper,  and  arose  swearing.  Then  he  remem- 
bered that  the  grip  containing  his  belongings 
was  not  in  the  clubhouse  but  in  the  office  of  the 
assistant  secretary.    He  retraced  his  steps — 

* '  I  '11  hang  my  harp  on  a  weeping  willow  tree, 
And  may  the  world  go  well  with  thee ! ' ' — 

The  feminine  dealer  in  diamond  solitaires  had 
neglected  to  lock  the  door.  Joe  Carey  turned 
the  handle,  and  went  blundering  in.  Then  he 
paused,  very  much  disconcerted.  Miss  Specs  was 
still  sitting  at  her  desk,  but  her  head  was  down 


ELEPHANT'S  WAY  315 

on  her  arms,  and  they  were  stretched  flat  on  the 
broad  blue  blotter,  one  hand  clutching  Miss 
Gunga  Din.  Even  a  pachyderm  from  Texas 
could  perceive  that  the  assistant  secretary  of  the 
Bruins  was  sobbing  with  utter  abandon. 

"Why,  Miss  Specs,"  he  cried,  "Why,  Miss 
Specs — " 

For  the  first  and  only  time  in  her  life.  Miss 
Specs  felt  called  upon  to  express  herself  in  the 
earnest  vocabulary  of  the  diamond. 

"You  g-get  to  hell  out  of  here,  Joe  Carey,'' 
cried  Miss  Specs,  "  Go  way  from  me — shoo!  ^' 

Still  he  stood  there  dumbfounded.  Desper- 
ately, she  searched  for  something  to  throw  at 
him,  and  found  the  gold  baseball  with  the  auto- 
graph signatures.  For  a  woman  she  threw  it 
with  remarkable  control.  But  Joe  had  been 
practising  fielding.  Mechanically,  he  elevated 
one  huge  paw  and  seized  the  sphere. 

Put  it  down  as  an  assist  for  Miss  Specs. 
Jumbo  had  the  ball, — that  was  enough.  He 
pulled  himself  erect,  hitched  at  his  belt,  and  went 
lumbering  into  place  at  the  side  of  the  mahogany 
desk.  The  charm  was  on, — Jumbo  was  talking 
to  the  ball. 

"Got  to  getcha,"  he  whispered,  "got  to  get 
this  one  over.  Right  down  the  old  alley,  you  go. 
Come  on,  now, — ^get  over  with  it — right  in  the 
old  glove!     Damned  if  I  go  to  New  York  alone. 


316      HEARTS  AND  THE  DIAMOND 

she  could  pack  her  things  by  to-night  and  go 
along  with  me,  if — ^^ 

"  Joe  Carey,  are  you — ?  " 

"Yes,  marm,"  he  hurried,  eyes  still  on  the 
ball,  "  I'm  trying  to  find  out  if  you'll  tie  up  with 
a  fool  elephant.  I  love  you.  Miss  Specs, — and  if 
you're  willing  to  put  up  with  me — I'll  just  about 
do  any  old  thing  them  Giants  ask." 

The  door  opened,  and  in  swung  Dick  Maguire. 

"  Ah,  there  you  are,  big  fellow — Now,  about 
that  transportation.  I  forgot  to  ask — you're 
single,  ain't  you?" 

"  Wa-al,  now,"  said  Jumbo,  scratching  his 
head.  "  I'll  be  darned  if  I  know.  You  came  in 
here  too  quick." 

"  What's  that?  "  demanded  Maguire,  and  then, 
as  he  saw  the  scarlet  cheeks  of  the  assistant  sec- 
retary— "  Holy  Smoke !  I  guess  I'd  better  go 
out  and  walk  around  a  while." 

But  on  his  way  out  the  door,  the  ivory  hunter 
couldn't  resist  a  glance  over  his  shoulder  at  the 
particular  scoreboard  where  Cupid  hangs  up  the 
figures.     One  peek  was  enough. 

"  Wow  I  "  he  commented,  "  looks  like  it's  tied 
up  in  the  ninth  inning  all  right.  Old  Barney 
Doyle  will  throw  a  fit.  Guess  I'd  better  get  a 
nice  little  drawing  room,  and  route  ^em  via  Niag- 
ara FaUs!" 

THE  END  JL 


LOAN  DEPT. 


CO 


^1 

CO 


U.C.  BERKELEY 


LD  2lA-40m-2,'69 
(J60578l0)476— A-32 


Geaeral  Library     . 
Uoiver^ftyofCaUforma 

Berkeley 


36/ 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


